


The Origin of Love

by z0mbieshake



Series: Fractured Destinies [1]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012), Inception (2010), Mysterious Skin (2005), Warrior (2011)
Genre: Angst, Crossover Pairings, Heartbreak, M/M, Multiple Crossovers, Multiple Personalities, Origins, Psychological Torture, Torture, keeping the lovebirds apart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:36:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 99,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/z0mbieshake/pseuds/z0mbieshake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ex-marine and a sex hustler find each other one cold, dark night in New York drawn together by each other's fractured souls. It was their dream to be together and their destiny to be torn apart by every force in the world at every point of their lives. This is the origin of Eames and Arthur's forbidden romance. Crossover of Mysterious Skin (Arthur's origin), Warrior (Eames's origin), and TDKR based in the Inception universe. ArthurxEames is the main pairing with various combinations of their "counterparts".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Earn your Heart

The New York trains were always a dump. The pungent aroma of refuse and sweat permeated every barrier. No matter where anyone sat, no one would be at a safe distance from a drunk vagrant's mad cries and occasional vomit. If any patron closed their eyes and concentrated hard enough, they swore they could hear the garbage sizzling over the tracks beneath the train.

Tommy didn't care. Tommy Conlon, deserter from the military, embraced it all. A part of him died long ago. The rest of him died in the war. All that was left was a wandering rat hiding from the eyes of the government making peanuts for his army-brother's widow. 

 

It was an uneventful day at the downtown. He started his morning at the Super-Center supermarket. They paid him less than the college-bound working at the cashier but he kept at it. When the afternoon came, Tommy worked out at a dingy gym stuffed in between a worn out liquor store and an abandoned diner. The customers were bums, the equipment was a joke, but it had been free since Tommy beat out one coked-up punk. 

When night finally fell upon the city, Tommy breathed a sigh of relief. He'd leave the gym, shoving the door so hard that it'd tremble on its hinges. With a coarse black beanie on his head and frayed gloves cut at the fingers, Tommy stepped into an alley a few blocks away into an alcove framed by metal fences. A fight ring encircled by metal and bricks with hollering fans all around. An oil barrel filled with cash was situated right by the wall guarded by a mousy looking man with a heavy jacket.

Winner take all. That's what the barrel said. And Tommy was a winner. 

Every night, at least two hundred dollars for a couple hours. Everyone was pissed at the nobody who entered the ring, beat everyone down in a few punches, and shunned anyway who talked to him. Tommy wasn't here to make friends with a crowd of kids playing as a mob. Tommy was here to make money. Tommy was here to win. 

The fight rings always lasted four hours. It used to last till the morning. Once Tommy appeared, crowds started to dissipate. No one wanted to see one man take it all with barely a scratch on him. The novelty of the invincible warrior grew old and the once eight hundred an entire night became two hundred in four hours. 

Fair enough, it was still more than the Super-Center. 

 

Tommy slumped down against the seat, eyes tightly shut. He listened to the pounding of the tracks and doors of the train. He smelled the old coffee someone had spilled in the afternoon. He heard the doors slide open with a metallic hiss. He heard the weak footsteps of a stumbling kid. But most importantly, he caught the bitter smell of blood upon him. 

His eyes peeled open slowly, as if his eyelids were fighting against him in exhaustion. A shivering teen with a blood soaked shirt and a bloodied forehead sat directly in front of him. His eyes were pointed straight at Tommy but were unfocused, glazed over in fear. Tommy ignored him; he had more important things to do. He was dead tired as it was and he still needed to work tomorrow. Still, the smell of blood and soft whimpering kept pulling him out from his haze. Just get off the train so I can be at peace. Tommy growled in his mind. 

Three stations past, the teen still sat there in almost silence. Out of curiosity, Tommy opened his eyes again. His eyes then fell upon the hand kneading at the bloodied shirt, as if his forearm was a loose handle to reality. Forget the kid. Just wait for your stop. Tommy said to himself, shutting his eyes again. He was only three stops away. Hopefully, that kid would be gone too. 

Two stops away. Tommy opened his eyes and watched as the kid began to cry. He didn't whine, didn't convulse. It was morbidly silent as tears merely poured over his eyes and fell down his face without a single muscle twitching except for that hand that continued kneading at his shirt. As quick as they came, they stopped seconds later leaving a trickle of tears on his cheek. Tommy shut his eyes again; a hefty weight was tugging sorrowfully at his heart.

One stop away. Tommy kept his eyes closed. He didn't need this trouble. He didn't need this headache. All he wanted to do was go back to his crappy little apartment, sleep for five hours, and head back to his cycle. He promised Manny he'd protect his wife. He didn't have time to take care of little shits who played a bit too hard and bit off more than they could chew. He had his own life and his own-

"Mom," The whimper was soft, absent. It was directed to no one, maybe to an imaginary picture in the kid's eyes. 

And Tommy's resolve fell apart. He stood from his chair, growling absently at himself. The boy visually flinched as Tommy towered over him, a complete tower of muscle compared to his wiry frame, "Look, kid," Tommy said, "You need to get to the hospital. Or to the cops. That's a lot of blood on you." The kid shook his head jerkily, fearfully. He gripped onto himself tighter, curling in, trying to back away against a seat, "I'm not going to hurt you. Look, we'll get off at my stop and I'll ring up the cops. There's a station just there and I'm sure,"

"No cops," The kid choked out through thick tears.

"What?" Tommy replied.

"No cops," The kid choked out again, shaking his head violently. 

"No hospital either then?" Tommy asked. His stop was coming in close. The kid replied the same, refusing help, "Look, you need to get bandaged up. How bout we go down to a drug store and fetch you some bandages?"

There was a pause, glazed eyes focusing for a second at the man before him before he nodded weakly. Tommy extended a hand to him. Before he could even offer the help, the kid took his arm with clammy hands and stood up weakly. Slowly, they made their way to the train doors. Tommy felt the kid's weight almost completely supported by his arm. 

The two made their way through the darkness of night, passing the police station as they exited the train station. Tommy could see the boy twist his head back weakly, peering at the police station fearfully.

"Don't worry. Cops here wouldn't leave their home even if the president got shot outside," Tommy joked. The kid didn't laugh but he gave him a small hum, "Anyway kid, what's your name?" 

"Neil," It was a whisper, followed by a sudden sob. 

"I'm Tommy. Neil. Let's get you cleaned up," Tommy made a turn on the street. There was a 24 hour drug store right by his apartment complex. He'd gone there many times for painkillers and the occasional energy drink. He approached the white glow coming from the window, feeling the sweaty weight against his arm lighten from relief. Tommy's eyes scanned the windows quickly, "Son of a bitch!" He shouted abruptly. Neil wasn't startled; he expected Tommy's reaction. 

The drug store was barred up. Tommy leaned into the official documents pasted on the window, stating that the drug store was closed for handing out medication without prescription. Tommy's eyebrow perked up and shrugged to himself. That was true. This was where he got his pills, "Gotta find a new place for my pills then," 

A chuckle came from the body clinging to him. It was small, weak and practically a puff of air. Tommy looked to him quickly, watching that tiny smile that quivered between joy and exhaustion. There were no other drug stores around. There was nowhere else to receive medical attention.

Except for his apartment. 

"Look, kid, Neil," Tommy corrected himself quickly, "s'only drug store around here. Only place left to go is my place. I can fix you up there," He watched Neil's expression melt into a thousand different emotions wondering what to do. Someone had raped him, Tommy was sure from the blood staining the back of his jeans. He wouldn't force him to go home with him.

"I'll go with you," Neil murmured, expression obviously worried, "I'll go." He repeated. His eyes didn't bother meeting Tommy's.

The rest of the walk was silent. Both parties were clearly unnerved. Tommy feared accidentally scaring Neil away by bringing him to his home. The neglected beer bottles littered throughout the room and suspicious stack of pills would be more than enough to frighten anyone visiting. There were no elevators in the apartment, just a flight of metal frame stairs that buckled with every step. The first flight was no problem. Though Neil said nothing, Tommy listened to the whimpers that followed every slow step upward. Blunt nails dug into the thick sweater he wore and continued to dig the higher up they went. 

Without waiting for consent, Tommy picked Neil up in his arms and held him bridal style. Neil protested and shook violently, his hand smacking at Tommy's face, "Neil, we both know you're not getting up these stairs on your own," 

"Screw you," Neil mumbled weakly. 

Despite his words, Tommy knew he was grateful by the weak arms that looped around his neck and clutched to his massive neck muscles. Soft, black hair nuzzled against Tommy's stubble. Neil breathed a wet patch into his neck, his nose nuzzling a sensitive part of his neck. Tommy could smell the blood and sweat more than ever now. It was sour to his senses as if he could smell the shame and vileness from the act that produced it. Absently, Tommy wondered if Neil could catch the scent of a worthless vagabond from him. 

Tommy fumbled the door open, giving it a sharp kick when it got stuck, "There," Tommy lowered Neil to his feet, catching him when he swayed. Tommy shut the door and headed straight to the kitchen, scrambling through cupboards before he retrieved the first aid kit he contained in an old toolbox. When Tommy turned around, he noticed Neil's eyes glued to him fearfully. Tommy sighed, "I know it ain't pretty but it's a first aid kit. Have to make do with what you've got," He popped it open, revealing the gauze, rubbing alcohol, and other necessities. Immediately, Neil slackened. His head shifted back and forth, looking for a place to sit. 

Neil sat onto the couch gingerly after sweeping away the bottles. His hand rested upon an empty pill bottle but he brushed it aside without any questions. Tommy sat beside him soon after, damping a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. Aloof as always, Tommy gave no warning as he pressed the cotton ball against the wound on his head. Neil flinched but remained passive other than that. He cleaned the wound without much trouble, placing a small bandage of the deepest part of the cut. 

"I'll get you something to wear," Tommy got up from his seat and shoved the first aid tool box under the coffee table. In his room, he retrieved an old THEOGENES shirt he'd received as a present from Manny and a pair of boxers. There was no way Neil would have fit into any of his pants; he was practically a stick.

Tommy wasn't surprised to see that Neil had not moved a single muscle from where he had left him. The same blank look was on his face. The same emptiness in his presence. Tommy tossed him the small bundle of clothes and turned around, listening to the flutter of clothing as Neil slowly removed his own clothes. He wasn't sure why he did it but Tommy twisted his head around to look upon the frail young man. He gasped at the sight of the many bruises littered all over his body and heavily upon his hips and buttocks. Neil must've noticed the gasp and immediately jerked the THEOGENES shirt over his body as fast as he could. The boxer shorts were jerked up quickly, Neil almost stumbled over to wrestle them on.

"Neil, get over here and take your shirt off. I'll check if anything's broken," Tommy offered. Neil shook his head, refusing to face him as he hugged himself tightly, "Neil, don't be stupid." Tommy said. He reached forward and grabbed Neil's arm, instantly regretting his action.

Neil jerked away violently, cowering and shivering intensely as if he were struck in the face by a knife.

"Hey, kid, stop moving around!" Tommy called out, placing a hand on his shoulder to secure him only for Neil to freak out and slap him away, "What the hell's the matter with you?" With his effortless strength, Tommy easily secured Neil to the couch with both his hands before the teen lashed out and hurt himself. Neil continued to struggle and whimper before his body broke down into sharp convulsions and sobs, "Kid, Neil, I'm not going to hurt you," Tommy whispered, trying to soothe the fearful boy.

At closer proximity, Tommy noticed immediately his blown pupils and red-rimmed nostrils. 

"You took cocaine?" 

"No," Neil sobbed out, still wrestling in Tommy's grip, "He made me. Made me do it. Made me do everything. Made me suck him off. Made me. Made me..." Neil broke into a hysteric babble as he burst into tears again. 

With nothing else he could think of, Tommy took Neil into his arms and hugged him tightly as he sobbed hysterically into his sweater. He didn't think of talking to him; Tommy had no idea what to say. All he could think of was a comforting hand patting at his back as it bucked with every gasp and hiccup. Neil cried till he was too exhausted to. His body became limp in Tommy's embrace. The older man loosened his hold, looking to Neil who now lay in his arms with his eyes shut and nose buried into his neck. He breathed softly, calmly, despite the mess he made on Tommy's shirt.

"Feeling better now?" Tommy asked. No response, the kid fell asleep. 

He considered leaving him on the couch but reconsidered when the thought of the bottles, refuse, and potential weapons that could provoke a coked-up, hysteric rape victim came to mind. Instead, Tommy carried him to his room which was relatively clear of virtually anything but a dingy bed he had lifted from the sidewalk. 

Tommy lay Neil down gently noticing that no matter where he'd move Neil's head, it'd always find itself back against Tommy's neck. He pulled the cheap comforter over him but before he could leave, he felt a clammy hand gripping onto his shirt tightly. Tommy looked down and watched as Neil kneaded at his arm just as he had before, kneading into his handle on reality.

"Neil," Tommy mumbled, shoving at the younger man. He didn't wake but the jostling loosened tears at his eyes. With a heavy sigh, Tommy wrestled away for a second, stripped down to boxers and a beater, and slipped beneath the comforter. He rested one strong arm around Neil who shivered and wept softly in his sleep, "What a mess," Tommy said quietly.

 

\--- 

 

Sunshine cut through the blinds and struck Neil's face. His eyes twitched open at the light and he woke slowly. Absently, Neil found himself bathed in the most alluring musk he'd ever smelled. This was the scent of a true man, soft yet strong. He almost fell back asleep until he began recounting the events of last night. 

Brighton Beach

Cocaine

Slut

Neil panicked at the arms curled around him. Was he trapped by that psychopath who raped him senseless? At the sight of the muscled, tattooed arms and not the thick fat arms of his assaulter, Neil relaxed. In his drug-hazed memories, Neil slowly recollected his memories of his protector. Tommy. 

Now fully concentrated, Neil examined the bulky man slowly. He sat up, letting Tommy's arms fall down to his waist. The man was certainly not his type. He looked only a few years older than himself but something aged his appearance. His eyes fell upon dog tags hanging from the lamp and a blurry photo of what appeared to be a military camp. He was an ex-soldier aged by war. On top of this, he was ridiculously buff, almost comical when compared to the lanky Neil. His face was nothing special except for the pair of full, luscious lips that contrasted his gruff exterior. Neil couldn't resist reaching forward and pressing a fingertip to those beautiful lips, relishing in their plush texture. 

Neil could not recount taking a shower before he had gone to bed. His hands fell upon the bandage on his forehead, courtesy of Tommy. He left the bed and headed to the bathroom while Tommy blissfully slept the hours away. 

The hot shower was incredibly pleasant, cleaning away his filth and relaxing his sore muscles. Neil scrubbed himself down with the soap bar stuck to the bathtub edge. Neil had hoped for the soap to carry the same enticing scent as Tommy only to be disappointed when only a generic brand smell reached his nose. Same with the shampoo; Neil was evidently disgruntled. His distraction with the soap made him miss the heavy footsteps approaching the bathroom door. The door swung open with Tommy, half asleep, stumbling over to the sink.

"Shit, late for work,"

"Get out!" Neil cried, suddenly shivering in fear as he covered his body despite the shower curtain. Without any thought, Neil hurled the soap bar at Tommy, clocking him right on the temple.

"Jesus, alright!" Tommy shouted back, heading out before Neil threw something else at him. He shut the door with a loud bang, frightening Neil.

Neil sat in the tub for a few seconds, collecting his composure. As soon as it returned, he shut the water off and dried himself off quickly. With the boxer shorts and THEOGENES shirt barely on, Neil left the bathroom quickly, "Tommy?" He muttered, eyes first searching the bedroom before falling upon Tommy huddled on the couch eating a leftover chicken sub. Tommy looked to him for only a second before returning his attention to the sub. 

"I'm sorry. It's just," The memories are painful in his mind. He can't recall them without bursting into tears. 

Tommy tossed the sub aside on the coffee table, "Whatever. Here," He gestured to the seat beside him on the couch, "Eat something," 

Neil obeyed, taking a seat and biting into the sub. Vegetables and chicken breast with no dressing, Neil noticed. He wouldn't have expected a slob like Tommy to be such a healthy eater. The two said nothing; the two barely interacted. Neil merely watched as Tommy counted the bills in his hand and shoved them into the envelope. He scribbled down a name and address on the cover, barely legible.

"Who are those for?" Neil asked as he ate his sub.

Tommy peered at him, almost annoyed, but relented after, "Brother's wife. She's got two kids to feed." 

"Why isn't he taking care of her?"

"He's dead." 

Neil immediately fell silent. Figures, this man was a soldier. The aloof Tommy made no effort to restart the conversation letting them brew in silence for a while. Neil's mind wandered to his own borrowed clothing. 

"What's Theogenes?" Neil asked, stretching his shirt forward so he could look upon the design. On his shirt was a sketch of what appeared to be an ancient Greek statue framed with cartoon pillars and the title THEOGENES right across his chest. 

Tommy ignored him at first, merely working the envelope closed and stuffing it in his pocket. As soon as he finished, Tommy stretched back on the couch, resting his arms on the backrest, "Ancient Greek hero, fought 1400's games, never lost a single battle," 

Neil chuckled, "Never thought you'd be a classical civilizations fan," 

Tommy snorted, tugging at the sleeve of Neil's borrowed shirt, "One of my keepsakes from a friend. Never wore it ever," Tommy moved his hand as Neil fell back against the couch so he was level with Tommy's body, "Shouldn't you be heading to school now?" 

Neil couldn't tell if his tone was serious or sarcastic, "I'm 19, you know." 

Tommy snorted again, an obvious smirk in his voice, "You're kidding." 

"Dead serious," Neil replied, smirking. 

Tommy chuckled dryly as he stood, "Thought you were some high school punk. You should get going anyway," He headed to the bathroom to take a quick shower, "Keep the shirt. It'll never fit me anymore," 

"Figures, you're fucking massive," Neil said, earning another chuckle from Tommy. 

Neil heard the shower start. He had finished his sub and there was nothing to do but wait. His phone was stolen, unfortunately, so he had no way of contacting Wendy. She would have been awake by now and worried. Neil had to go home but he felt that he should at least warn Tommy. 

In the end, Wendy won out so Neil left a note taped to the couch before he left in his jeans and Tommy's shirt. He couldn't bear to look at the bloodied shirt anymore. All it reminded him of was the shame and suffering he endured. He hoped Tommy would burn it as soon as he found it. 

 

\--- 

 

Neil phased out of his life fast enough. Tommy had no expectations of seeing Neil while he took his shower. He skimmed the note and tossed it into a corner of his living room mess. His mind immediately snapped back to work. He had been hours late for the supermarket. He needn't check if he was still hired. The store owner specifically told him that a single fuck-up and he'd be gone. 

Job-searching was the goal today. Tommy immediately got to it as soon as he sent his letter. 

As he got dressed, he noticed the bloodied shirt left on the ground. He tossed it into the corner absently. The trash can was too far away.

 

His next morning job paid substantially better. Tommy worked as a cashier in a trinket store selling odds and ends like trick poker chips, decks of cards, loaded dice, and other pointless trick toys. Almost no one ever came in and those who did never asked him for help. Occasionally, he'd play around with the knick knacks. The multiplying poker chips were his favourite.

Tommy usually saved on lunch, opting for the cheapest food he could find. Today, however, he had made a bonus for fending off a couple rowdy teenagers smoking by the store. Today, he'd treat himself to something better. Tommy entered the local SUBZ and headed to the counter. 

"Welcome to SUBZ, can I...Tommy!" 

Tommy looked down from the menu on the wall and stared directly at Neil, "You always work here?" 

"I changed to a morning shift," He replied, "Figured you ordered that sandwich from SUBZ," Neil immediately started on the sub without hearing Tommy's order, "Chicken breast, all veggies except pickles, no sauce?" 

Tommy raised a brow, nodding, "Yeah. About right. Toasted," 

Neil stuffed the sandwich into the toasted oven. All that was left to do was wait for the sandwich to toast, "Didn't think I'd see you again. What are the odds?" Neil smirked, wiping down the tables, "I didn't get to say this to you last time. But thanks," 

Tommy nodded slowly, "Okay," He replied with his typical aloofness. 

Neil removed the toasted sandwich, wrapping it up, "Why don't we head for lunch? It's been a while." 

Tommy watched Neil for a second. He had no reason not to. Tommy complied, nodding as he took his sandwich, "Alright," He took a seat by the window, watching as Neil prepared his own sub and sat down in front of him. He cringed at the sight of the honey mustard, pulled pork sub stacked with cheese and bacon before him, "That's disgusting," Tommy muttered, jokingly yet in a solemn tone. 

Neil chuckled, "You should try it. Wouldn't kill you to eat something unhealthy," He bit into it, moaning with pleasure as he did. Tommy ate his plain, somewhat bland sub quietly. Watching him, Neil tore a piece from his and handed it to Tommy, "Here," 

"Peace offering?" Tommy asked as he took the small piece. 

"Think of it as converting you to the dark side," Neil replied. He watched Tommy eat the small bite reluctantly. Though he kept a poker face through most of it, Neil noticed the small twitch of a smile and brightness in his eyes as he chewed through the offering, "You liked it," 

Tommy shrugged, leaning back, "Not my thing," 

"Bullshit, you loved it," Neil pushed, tearing off another piece and handing it to him, "Hey!" Neil shouted as Tommy reached forward and grabbed the other half of his pulled pork sub from the wrapper and bit into it. 

Tommy laughed at Neil's shocked expression while he consumed his delectable sub, "You're right. I did," He laughed harder as Neil pouted and grabbed Tommy's sub from the table, "Keep it," Tommy wolfed down the pulled pork sub. It had been a while since he had eaten something fatty and wholesome like that. Neil couldn't resist a smile at the sight of Tommy eating like a greedy child, "Nice place to work at. I could get used to this."

"It's alright. Free food and all," Neil said, finishing his half of the pork sub, "But the pay is horrible. Nash always trying to take my commission." He gestured to the mousy fellow by the counter who had taken over his lunch shift.

"Least you got commission, no one comes in where I work," Tommy replied, moving his attention to his bland sub. 

"Where do you work?" 

"Knick knack store," 

"A what?" 

"You know, we sell little trinket things. Chess pieces, lighters, poker chips," 

"Sounds badass, maybe I'll visit tomorrow," 

Tommy nudged his head out the window towards the street directly across from them, "Down this street, forth store on the left," He finished his sub, licking the dried honey mustard off his fingers, "I'm at the cashier. Bring a sub,"

Neil chuckled, rolling up the wrappers and tossing them into the wastebasket, "It's a date," He joked as he stood.

Tommy stood up shortly after. His eyes fell upon the bandage tucked under his hat. It had only been a few days since that night. The bruises were probably still visible on his body. Tommy reached forward, touching his head gently, "You feeling better?" He asked.

Neil froze at first. He turned slowly, eyes meeting Tommy's soft, boyish stare, "Yeah. I'm a lot better," Tommy nodded, turning to the door, "Thank you. Really," 

Tommy didn't meet his eyes. He kept them fixed on the outside as he left the store, "See you tomorrow," He said, fast, reassuring. 

 

The next day, Tommy stayed at the trinket store as he promised. Susan, who worked inventory, offered to bring him something from the coffee store down the street. Tommy declined her request, or rather ignored her completely, and waited behind the cashier. He continued rubbing the novelty poker chip in his hand, amused by how it appeared to give birth to two more chips as he rubbed. 

"Having fun, aren't you?" Neil asked, plopping two subs onto the counter. Tommy looked up, smirking, "Let me play with those," 

The two sat behind the counter, subs beside them on their wrappers. As they did yesterday, the two shared a half of each other's sub: One healthy chicken breast and the other greasy, pulled pork sub. Neil watched with amusement as Tommy snapped the three chips together by rubbing them in his palm and then proceeded to rub them apart, giving them the illusion of multiplying chips. 

Their lunch break quickly became playtime as Tommy took out several sample trinkets and they began tinkering around with them like overexcited children. Neil had a desk of rigged cards in his hands. After some shuffling and trickery, Neil withdrew a card. 

"Is this your card?" 

"Not even close," Tommy laughed, "I had the two of hearts," 

"Such a shame, I guess this trinket is broken," Neil rubbed the card between his thumb and forefinger, "Or maybe," The card split into two with the two of hearts tucked right behind it. Tommy nearly choked with laughter on his chicken sub. 

Tommy applauded, wiping up his hands with a napkin, "Not bad," He picked up a set of red dice from the table, "How about this one?" 

Neil took a dice from his Tommy's set, tossing it up and down in his hands, "Not bad. Loaded die, correct?" 

"Rigged," Tommy corrected, "Depending on how you throw it, you'll get whatever number you want," He held two between his fingers and tossed them lightly into the penny tray by the cash register.

The two bent over, examining the numbers rolled by the dice, "Snake-eyes," Neil commented, picking both die up, "Let me try this out," He picked up all three dice in his hands, lodging them between the upper joints of his fingers. 

"Mr. Riordan," A gravelly voice called out. Tommy whipped around, seeing the store manager standing behind him with coffee in hand, "What do you think you're doing with the merchandise? This isn't a playroom," 

Neil stood up quickly, wrapping their leftover subs as he stood, "I would like to purchase these," He placed the dice on the table, "I was just checking them to make sure they work." 

The store manager wasn't a fool. He knew they were playing around but he also knew that customers were sparse and he had to take advantage of it whenever he could. He sold Neil the rigged dice and headed to the back of the store. Neil winked to Tommy as he left, asking him to lunch tomorrow at the sub store. Tommy obliged quickly. 

 

From then on, the two always ate lunch together. They would alternate between the sub store and the trinket store. The meal was always the same, only a change in sauce for Neil's sub choice. However, when they were ambitious, the two would go out for coffee and donuts at the coffee store that sat directly between their workplaces. 

At the trinket store, they spent most of their time playing around and doing stupid tricks to pass the time. Tommy swore their excessive playing helped gather more customers fascinated by two grown men playing with toys like children. At the sub store, however, the two often sat around chatting. It started off about work, then New York, before the topics became more and more personal. 

"Wendy's says I'm starting to glow. Maybe it's because of you," Neil joked, biting into his sub.

"Who's Wendy?" 

"I never told you?" Neil said. Tommy shot him a puzzled look in return, "She's my childhood friend. We're soul mates, always meant to be together," A small flash of emotion came upon Tommy's face. Neil barely caught it. He didn't know what it was but it made his heart wrench just a bit, "We're not dating. She's more like family," Neil finished up his sub, "I've told her things, secret things that I've never told a single soul. And she cares about me despite all that," 

"I had someone like that," Tommy replied, "Name was Manny. We were in the corps together. A true brother," A sad smile on his face made Neil's heart wrench again, "My mother died of sickness. Had no money, only thing left to do was to join the corps. Manny looked out for me; I never asked him to but he helped me out," 

Kind of like you, Neil wanted to say but refrained. 

"He was like the brother I always wanted. Always laughing, always strong, even when I didn't want to be," From the sadness in his eyes, Neil could tell this story had a bitter ending, "He was killed in friendly fire. Last thing we talked about was his family. From then on, I promised I'd take care of them." 

"So that's who you're sending the cash to," Neil said. 

Tommy nodded, face tightening, "His wife and two kids. She's great; a good person," Tommy finished up the pulled pork sub, "You know, you're the first person I've ever told about Manny."

"Flattered," Neil replied, "And, I'm sorry. I mean, I saw the photo at your place. Must've been really important," 

"Yeah," Tommy said. The conversation died out soon after. Neil kept his eyes fixed on Tommy. Tommy's gaze couldn't affix itself onto anything. Tommy didn't even touch his food anymore. 

The sight of Tommy hurt Neil, struck him with sorrow. His actions were almost involuntary. Neil's arms came around Tommy's body, clasping around those burly muscles and frayed jacket. He leaned across the table and embraced Tommy with all his strength. He expected Tommy to pull away. Who would want to be seen hugging onto a hustler? Especially a gay hustler? Instead, Neil felt Tommy tuck his head on his shoulder. Half-gloved hands crept around Neil's thin frame in a half hug. That natural cologne coming from Tommy intoxicated Neil again but he fought through it in order to let go. 

Neil slowly released Tommy, eyes meeting his as he did, "My lunch break's done," 

"Yeah, me too," Tommy replied. His face appeared younger, more fragile. His eyes remained locked to Neil's. He broke away first after a staring contest between the two. Tommy packed up his part of the lunch and stuffed it into a doggy bag, "See you tomorrow, come to the trinket store," 

Neil nodded with a small smile on his lips, "Alright. See you." 

 

Their lunches at the trinket store remained playful and light. Eventually, they ended up dusting off some ancient trinkets left over from the 70s and began playing around with them. On the other hand, their lunches at the sub store continued to get more and more personal. They wanted to learn more and more about the other.

It started with their closest friends. Neil told him about Eric Preston, his gothic punk best friend who was surprisingly finicky despite his wild appearance. He told him about his mother who could never keep a boyfriend down and how he had looked at her playgirl stash when he was younger which eventually led to him figuring out his sexuality. Tommy never judged him. Tommy accepted everything with seriousness shrouded in humour.

Tommy talked mostly about his time in the military. He talked about how he felt that it gave him purpose. Mostly, he talked about his friends in the corps. Manny was always first in his conversations, his true brother in arms and best friend. He noted Manny never shut up about his family so Tommy could now recite all of Manny's kids' first words. He moved to James, a British-American who had no sense of humour outside of snarky comments. Talking about his lost comrades made him smile but when he became emotional, Tommy never noticed, Neil would have his arms around him instantly. 

One day at the sub store, Neil had been wearing the THEOGENES shirt he had taken from Tommy. The conversation inevitably reached Theogenes and why Tommy had the shirt. 

"Mixed martial arts," Neil repeated, "Shit, I should've known." His eyes scanned Tommy's body.

"Yeah, was a big wrestler back in high school. Dad trained me since I was a kid," Tommy said, "My goal was to surpass Theogenes. Had a stupid little chart made too comparing me and him," Tommy chuckled hysterically, "Man, that was fucking stupid,"

Neil chuckled along, "I think it's kind of cute in a manly way," Tommy gave him a quick punch to the shoulder, "All I did was little league back in the day. That was only because my mom didn't bother getting a babysitter."

"You play with your dad?" 

"Nah, I didn't have a father. Just some extra baggage from my mother," 

"Count your blessings," Tommy replied, finishing his first half of the sub, "I hated my dad," He picked at the olives on the wrapper, popping each one into his mouth, "Ex-marine, always drunk, beat us when we didn't get in line. Me and my mom fled from him; ran as far as we possibly could," He looked to Neil, "See? Could've been worse," 

Neil smiled half-heartedly. Tommy was so honest about everything he said. He was never afraid to hide his secrets from him. Yet Neil knew, if he told him his own flaws, Tommy would leave. His heart painfully withered at the thought of Tommy lashing out at him, calling him a fag, storming out of the store and never coming back. 

A hand tousling his hair awoke Neil from his daze. Tommy swiftly messed up his hair and pulled his hand back, "Don't worry about it. It's a happier time now," Neil hadn't noticed the sudden sadness overtaking his face but Tommy had. He assumed it was sympathy rather than heartache. 

"Right," Neil replied quickly, nodding, "I've never really been too attached to my mom. More like my friends who were my family," He muttered, quickly, to distract Tommy from his true feelings, "Anyway, that's the end of my lunch break. Next time, trinket store?" 

Tommy nodded, wrapped up his garbage and headed to the door. Neil stood up quickly, "Tommy," He called out, "Are you busy tonight?"

"Yeah, busy for the whole night."

Neil slumped at his response. 

"I'm good Friday," Tommy said. 

Neil perked up, "Want to go to a bar? I'll meet you at your place at 9." 

"It's a date," Tommy drawled casually as he left the store.

He hadn't noticed the shade of crimson that came over Neil's face.

 

Friday drew near. Tommy and Neil's lunch dates hadn't stopped. When they had exhausted everything to talk about, they began chatting about their own sandwich ideas leading to bizarre creations like beans and pickle on flatbread with potato salad. Neil knew he still had much to talk about. He had decades to talk about. He could never tell him. He couldn't let Tommy hate him. 

"Hey asshole," Wendy said as Neil entered the apartment, "Left your hat on," Neil immediately took off the SUBZ cap, tossing it aside with his duffel bag, "Neil? Is something wrong?" 

Neil shook his head, laying down on the bed, "Heading out tonight with a friend. Just thinking about what to do," 

"It's Tommy, isn't it?" 

"How'd you know his name?" 

"Nash told me about it. He said this big guy who works at the trinket store always stops by and eats lunch with you. He said you're always chatting it up in the store," Wendy said, sitting on the bed while Neil put his head onto her lap, "So, what do you think of him? Is he a keeper?" 

Neil stretched out on the bed and covered his eyes, "Oh Wendy," He said, "I've never been so in love," He chuckled dryly, "He's not like those other people I've fucked. He's...he's Tommy. He's just Tommy. And god, I love him for it."

"You got it real bad, don't you?" Wendy smiled down on him, petting his hair gently while Neil played with the rigged die in his hands, "You know, Since that night during Halloween when we were kids, I always thought that you had a black hole where your heart was," Neil watched her as she spoke like a goddess to her loyal follower, "Neil, you've earned your heart back." 

Neil smiled, weakly. That pit in his heart which lay all those tainted memories with his coach was crumbling. Tommy was so much more than him. Tommy was his saviour. All he wanted to do was confess his love to Tommy. It didn't matter if Tommy didn't return his love; he just needed him to know. 

But he couldn't. With his heart, came all those secrets buried in it. He'd never told Tommy he was a gay hustler. He never told him how he made a hobby back in his hometown with fucking every man who dropped by the park. Never told him the thrill he got when he did it in public. Never told him about his first time. His coach. His angel. But Tommy told him everything from his deceased comrades to his abusive father. 

"God I love him," Neil whispered as Wendy hugged him. But I can never have him.

"Neil, don't forget about going back to Kansas, remember?" Wendy said gesturing to the tickets on the coffee table.

"Fuck this," Neil mumbled as he snatched the tickets off the table, "In two days? Are you kidding me? Completely fucking forgot," Two days left in New York. Two days left with Tommy, "I can't go back. Not now," 

Wendy shook her head, "Neil, your mom's waiting for you. You have to go."

The conversation ended abruptly. Neil caught a glance at the clock, realized he was late, and rushed out the door. He ran to the station, utterly breathless even while he sat in the train car. The thought of never seeing Tommy again. Back to boring Kansas, back to all those johns. Neil screamed silently as he jogged down the street and up the stairs to Tommy's apartment. He knocked on the door, three quick pats. When no one came, he did it again. At the third time, Neil slumped to the floor by the door, resting his face in his hands. 

"You feeling okay?" Tommy asked. Neil lifted his head, saw Tommy standing before him with grocery bags in hand, "Went to pick up groceries for Christmas," He extended a hand down to Neil who hastily took it and stand, "Something happen?" 

Neil shook his head quietly, "Let's go," Neil straightened out his clothes, his mood. Today, he was just going to enjoy his time with Tommy, "I know a good bar around here. Got great drinks," 

With a change of clothes, Tommy and Neil headed down to the bar. The place was relatively quiet. Neil specifically picked the bar for its emptiness since he knew Tommy disliked crowded areas. He seemed horribly overdressed in a slick black shirt with his leather jacket and fine black jeans compared to Tommy's hooded sweater and sweatpants. 

"Could've sworn you only own hooded sweaters," Neil joked, sipping his vodka as he stood by the bar. 

Tommy sat on the stool, nursing a beer, "They're warm. They got pockets. They got a hood. What's there not to like?" Neil burst into laughter, "You doing anything this Christmas?" 

I'm going home to Kansas. I might not even come back. The words never left his mouth. Neil nodded weakly, "Yeah," He murmured, almost silently. Tommy didn't catch it. He was too distracted by the beefy man with hawk-like eyes heading towards Neil with a lustful look. 

"Hello again beautiful," The man muttered, pressing one arm against the bar and laying a hand on Neil's hip, "500 this time since you were so good to me last time," Neil was dumbfounded. He was frozen in fear. He never wanted Tommy to know this way. He never wanted Tommy to know at all! 

"Hey, get off him," Tommy hissed, pushing himself off the stool, "He's not interested," 

"That's not what he said when he was fucking me with his cock for half the price a few weeks ago,"

Tommy wasted no time. He grabbed the beefy man and ripped him away from Neil. The man fought back, wrestling at his arm. Tommy's iron grip didn't relent. He threw one good punch at his face and the man fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes completely out cold. Neil stood there like a prize for the winner. His eyes locked to Tommy's but he tore away fast. He was shivering. His mind spun. Tommy knew in the worst way possible. 

"Hey," Tommy murmured to him, rolling the man away with his feet, "Neil," 

"I'm sorry," Neil said, too afraid to face him. 

"Sorry for what?"

"Being a hustler. A hooker. A call-boy. A prostitute," The words dribbled out from his mouth as if the truth just could resist slipping out, "Fucking men for money. I'm sorry I never told you even though you told me everything." 

Tommy approached Neil, "There's nothing wrong. I mean, there's something wrong. But, you needed the money and-" 

"I didn't need the fucking money. I did it for fun," Neil turned to Tommy with a heartbreaking smile on his face, "I fuck for fun. It makes me feel good. Fucked all the johns back in my hometown and half the patrons at a bar," He covered his eyes, couldn't bear to look at Tommy anymore, "I'm sorry that this is the way you had to learn this." He turned back to the bar, sipping his vodka with his eyes shut tightly waiting for Tommy to leave the bar in a huff.

Arms circled him. Strong, muscular, safe arms embraced him tightly. He felt Tommy's face against his neck. His plush lips nudged at the edge of his jaw. With one hand, he stroked down his head comfortingly. 

Neil shuddered at the tightness and intimacy of the embrace, "Why are you comforting me?" 

"Because you looked like you needed it," Tommy replied, blunt as always. 

The two eventually found themselves in a booth far away from the front of the bar. It was tucked behind a pillar and away from the prying eyes of any of Neil's old customers. The two sat across from each other now nursing new drinks. Neil talked and only Neil talked. Tommy listened as Neil poured out the brutal truth. He listened to the stories of his little league coach, from the grooming to the pet names. He listened about the johns in the park and the calling card he'd left in the public bathroom. He listened to how he'd let men blow him in public; listened to the thrill it gave him of being in power. He listened to how a trick had gone bad and he ended up raped and tossed onto the curb. Listened to how all this time, he thought sex gave him power when all it did was reduce him to slave meat. Listened to how Tommy came into his life like a knight in shining armour. And when Neil finished, Tommy listened to him as he sobbed tearlessly. 

"And this is what Neil McCormick is," Neil finished his stories. He gave Tommy the complete truth just as Tommy had given him the truth. 

"Why did you tell me all of this?" 

"You told me the truth. You deserved it too," Neil said, quietly, "And I wanted you to know all of me," Wanted to know if you'd love me through all this. Neil shut his eyes tightly as Tommy slid out from the booth. He forced himself not to cry. How cruel to finally earn his heart only to have it broken. 

His faith was rewarded when Tommy slid up beside him and once again wrapped him in his arms. He kept his eyes closed, sinking into Tommy's powerful embrace. 

"I haven't been completely honest to you," Tommy said, rocking Neil gently, "Tomorrow. Meet me at Lawrence station at 10. I'll show you where I get my money. And then I'll bring you home. And I'll show you more." His embrace didn't loosen. Neil didn't pull away. The two merely stayed entwined there for the rest of the night only pulling away to take a drink. 

It had been late but Neil brought Tommy back briefly to Wendy's home. She was still awake, dressed in a nightgown and screaming when she saw Tommy's bulky shadow sitting by the window. They exchanged their greetings and Tommy left as soon as he could. Neil chuckled as he mentioned how aloof Tommy is to anyone he speaks to. 

Wendy looked to Neil who held a sadness in his eyes despite the smile and drunken aura, "You didn't tell him you're leaving, did you?" 

Neil shook his head, "Please keep an eye on him for me," 

 

Their lunch the next day was quiet. The two spent it in the coffee store both sipping a coffee and eating a donut. Neither looked discontent but both had nothing to stay. Tommy left first, reminding Neil to meet him at Lawrence station at 10 before heading out. Neil couldn't help but feel an inkling that something was going to go wrong. 

Even still, Neil stood at Lawrence station in his leather jacket with his hands in his pockets. He watched the train for Tommy and was caught off guard when he approached him from behind, "Hey," Tommy called out. He was sweaty and dressed in a beater and sweat pants which showed off his marvelous tattoos. Through that thick sweat, Neil caught that familiar musk that drew him in, "Over here," His voice was breathy as if he had been exercising prior. From his state of dress, he probably was.

Tommy said nothing as Neil followed him through the alleys. From behind, Neil could've sworn that Tommy got bigger as he slipped further between the buildings

"Where are we going?" Neil asked. No answer. 

The sound of crowds and violence became clear. The two approached a ring of people screaming for blood, tossing bills into a nearby oil drum. Two people stood in the center of the circle, wailing at each other without mercy. As soon as they saw Tommy, the crowd parted for his entrance and cheered. Neil watched as the fighters immediately stopped, looked at each other in desperation, and forfeit the match to Tommy. Up till now, Neil had only seen Tommy's back. When he turned, all he could see was a mindless monster with eyes burning with animalistic rage. Neil was frightened, terrified, but stayed his ground and watched as Tommy tossed his money into the oil drum. The crowd cheered frantically like hyenas over a fresh scrap of meat. A fighter jumped in. He didn't last long. None of them did. 

Tommy ripped through his competition. Not a single person laid a punch on him. His glare alone drained his opponents' stamina. Not a single drop of humanity was in his eyes. Neil stayed far away from the crowd, close enough only to barely see Tommy in action. Tommy hadn't looked at him once; he thought he might've forgotten about him. 

"Beautiful, you new here?" A man said to Neil. He could easily recognize the man as the first competitor who ducked out as soon as he saw Tommy, "I'm done for the night. How about a bar?" 

"No thanks," Neil replied. 

"How about a bed?" He added with a flirty smile. 

"No," Neil replied. In an earlier time, he would've left immediately. Not today, he was here for Tommy and he'd stay for Tommy.

"Playing hard to get, you whore-" The man never finished. Tommy broke through the audience circle and slammed his fist right into the man's face, knocking him to the ground. The man curled, shielding his face as Tommy glared daggers at him. 

Tommy's eyes shot up to Neil who was frightened by the feral rage in them, "You okay?" He asked, his voice gruff and wild sounding. Neil nodded meekly. Tommy returned to the circle as if nothing had happened and the crowd closed up his path. 

From then on, no one dared to talk with Neil. 

They had stayed there for hours. Even when they left, Tommy still carried the essence of a psychopathic killer. They had said nothing on their walk back to the station. Only when the two sat in the train car did Tommy begin to cool down and return to his aloof self. 

"You okay?" Tommy asked again to the shell-shocked Neil. 

Neil nodded weakly, "Fine, just frightened," He looked to the side, "Never been to a fighting ring before."

"It's not just that," Tommy said quietly, "You were scared of me. I looked like a monster, didn't I?" 

Neil said nothing. It was true. 

"I hid things from you. I hid things from everyone. Thought you'd hate me for it," Tommy said, looking to Neil through the corner of his eye, "Do you?"

Neil shook his head hysterically, "No way," He was scared that those fists would turn to him. He was scared that Tommy's glare would burn a hole through his soul. He was scared but he knew Tommy would never turn on him, "I'm not scared of you," 

A genuine smile flashed over Tommy's tired visage. His shut his eyes and reached an arm out to pat Neil's head, "Thank you. Goes a long way," Neil playfully smacked his hand away muttering 'I'm not a kid' to his hand, "There's one more thing I have to show you. In my apartment,"

Tommy brought him back home and immediately went to the bedroom. Neil followed dumbly, watching as Tommy removed his sweat soaked clothes right in front of him. Only in his boxers, which were clingy and worn in all the wrong places, Tommy reached into the drawer by his bed. He gestured for Neil to sit on the bed beside him without looking up leaving Neil a perfect view of his sculpted, tattooed back. 

All the signals were there. Neil couldn't resist even when Tommy had began to talk. The words faded from his detection. Neil slid his hands over Tommy's perfectly sculpted back and he pushed his entire body against him. There was a thin layer of sweat but Neil didn't mind. He pressed his cheek to his back and breathed in deeply, relishing in his warmth. 

Whatever Tommy had been fidgeting around with in his drawer was ignored. Tommy looked over his shoulder and watched Neil nuzzle his back lovingly. He dropped them back into their hiding place. From the jangling sound, Neil could tell that they were several dog tags possibly tangled in a clump. Tommy rolled towards Neil, back against the headboard of the bed. Neil snuggled against Tommy's chest, hands trailing down his body gently. 

"I've never been with a man before," Tommy said, stroking Neil's back. 

Neil smiled softly, lost in Tommy's presence, "I'll walk you through it," 

Neil stripped down to his boxers and slid down Tommy's body. He rested his head against Tommy's thigh, trailing feather light touches up his inner thigh with his hand. Through the boxer material, Neil's fingers stroked at his cock gently trailing up and down from his balls to the head. Tommy moaned softly. His voice was deep and growly when pleasured. Neil took note of this. When he was half-erect, Neil released his penis from the confines of his boxer shorts and immediately rubbed at it with his hands. Tommy's hips jerked forward, his hand grabbed onto Neil in sudden shock. His eyes were shut tight in ecstasy. Neil continued jerking him off, pushing Tommy closer and closer to the edge until his body was hot and sensitive. At that point, Neil enveloped Tommy's erection into his mouth and Tommy's mind short-circuited. He moaned, growled, sounding like a vicious animal in heat. It frightened Neil at first, thinking of that feral Tommy at the fight ring, but he remembered the gentleness of his savior and calmed down. His own erection was visible against his black boxers. 

Tommy pushed Neil's head away, hoisted him onto his lap, and reached into his boxers. Neil cried out as Tommy jerked him off. He had plenty of orgasms from other men but this one felt pure. This pleasure felt warm and right. Neil moaned louder and his breaths became jerky and desperate. He clung to Tommy as the man took his large hand, encircled both their erections and rubbed them together. The throbbing heat threw them both into absolute wild pleasure. Tommy moaned outwardly, voice dark with ecstasy. Neil pressed his moan into Tommy's flesh, suckling on the back of his neck right beneath his ear, leaving a mark in its place. 

The two came seconds apart. Tommy first, almost screaming as he came over Neil's body. He worked Neil faster as he rode through his orgasm, letting Neil share it by having him come seconds later. The two lay upon the bed basking in the afterglow. Tommy shifted down, letting his head fall onto the pillow. He pulled Neil down, letting him rest his head on his bicep. 

"Tommy," Neil whispered, "I love you," His voice was so breathless; he wasn't sure if Tommy could hear it. 

Tommy kept his eyes closed as he desperately tried to catch his breath. His head fell to the side and he gave him a weak smile. He put his arms around Neil, blanketing him in his sweaty embrace, "Neil, are you doing anything for Christmas?" 

And everything struck Neil at once. 

"I bought some cheap stuff from the grocery. Maybe we can throw it together, make a Christmas feast," 

"I can't," Neil whispered, heartbroken. 

Tommy watched, his smile fading slowly, "Why not?" 

Neil shut his eyes tightly, "I'm heading back to Kansas tomorrow," He pressed his hands over his face, "Shit, Tommy, I'm so sorry. I should've fucking told you,"

Tommy sat up from the bed, loosening his embrace, "When will you be back?" 

"Maybe never," Neil replied, "New York was just experimenting," He covered his eyes again as he sat up, "Fuck, I'm so fucking sorry." He didn't hear anything from Tommy. All he heard was the sound of metal snapping by the bedstead. Neil looked up, watching as Tommy deposited the dog tag he had wrapped around the lamp into his hands, "What?" It was Tommy's dog tag. Thomas Conlon.

"This is yours," Tommy said, closing Neil's hand around it, "Send me a letter whenever you can," 

Neil nodded. Always, as long as he knew where Tommy was, he'd stay in touch, "Someday, maybe you could come with me. We'll meet again. I promise." 

Tommy didn't respond but his eyes looked wishful. For their final moment together, Tommy pressed a kiss to Neil's lips. The kiss was dry and chaste, as if Tommy didn't really know how to properly kiss someone. Neil left shortly after, leaving behind a note with his home address. Neil left the apartment. Neil left the city. Never again would Neil be united with Tommy in New York.


	2. In Dreams, Maybe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter will spoil the end of Mysterious Skin and Warrior

It had been a year since Neil had returned to Kansas. It had been a year since he told Brian the awful truth. It had been a year of Brian's life suffering through his painful memories before he finally hung himself. Eric, Christmas gifts in hand, came into his bedroom happily. He screamed; Brian's dead eyes and dangling body forever etched into his memory.

The funeral happened after New Year's. No one celebrated that year. Brian's death brought a shroud of darkness over everyone's lives. Neil never told Eric the truth but Eric pieced it together himself. Even though he took Brian's death the hardest, Eric kept watch over Neil making sure that he wouldn't go the same path as his departed friend.

Still in his pitch black funeral suit, Neil lay in bed staring into the ceiling. He thought he could escape his childhood. Brian probably did too. He thought he could find true happiness that would erase his past. Brian probably did too. He thought he could live. Brian probably did too. He drowned in his own thoughts, his own feelings of worthlessness and taint. How long till he broke apart like Brian? The question floated in his mind. True despair overtook him. Neil felt himself trembling violently. He curled to the side, holding himself down in reality.

And in moments, his body stopped trembling and his breathing slowed. In his moments of utter hopelessness, he'd imagine strong, tattooed arms circle him and hold him close. That warm familiar musk wafted in the air. _Tommy_... Neil whispered as he lowered himself into his phantom embrace. Even when miles apart, Tommy's kindness still protected him.

Neil had almost dozed off in the imaginary embrace before Wendy knocked on the door and entered. She was dressed solemnly for the occasion without any of the outrageous makeup she usually had on, "Hey. I came here to see Preston. How are you holding up?"

Neil sat slowly, fixing his suit and hair, "Good," He said a bit too quickly. He couldn't meet Wendy's warm, motherly eyes. His attention diverted to his bedstead where he picked up the red die that sat by the lamp. He toyed with it in his fingers, "Preston really liked Brian."

"I know. He's still crying over it. I've never seen him so upset," Wendy said. Her eyes never left Neil. She took a seat beside him on the bed, "Neil, are you really going to be alright? I mean... Brian, he..."

"Was the same, I know," Neil said, still toying with the die in his hands, "I'll be okay. Don't worry about me. You should be with Preston,"

Wendy nodded, "Right. We'll probably hang out a bit later if that's okay with you," She paused, looking to the ground silently before starting again, "Neil, it wasn't your fault," Neil said nothing, "It would have caught up with him eventually,"

"So I just killed him sooner,"

"Neil..."

"How's Tommy?" Neil said, changing the topic quickly.

"Tommy," Wendy murmured, "He's okay. Doesn't get along with my friends much, or people in general," Neil smiled, same old Tommy, "We invited him over for Christmas. He came, ate, left,"

"Did he talk about me?" He held the red dye between his middle and ring finger.

"He really didn't talk at all," Wendy joked, light chuckle on her lips, "But whenever we talked about you, he'd always listen attentively," She took the red die from his hand, tossing it up and down, "We asked him to tell a story about you and him. He talked about burning one of your shirts,"

Neil chuckled at first, "What?" He said initially till the memory of his rape returned to him. The bloodied shirt, he had left it at his apartment. Neil couldn't bring himself to even look at the shirt and Tommy rid its existence from the world for him, "Oh," He said, quickly.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Neil took the dye back, juggling it over his fingers skillfully, "Want me to show you some tricks I learned back with Tommy?"

Wendy laughed, standing up, "I don't think I want to see any tricks you learned with Tommy," The two laughed and Wendy departed soon after to talk to Preston.

Just like that, Tommy soothed his poisonous thoughts. He always was and always would be Neil's saviour.

 

Tommy rarely sent postcards to Neil. When he did, they had little to say. Tommy wasn't much of a conversationalist. Neil did notice that Tommy was getting substantially better at innuendo courtesy of hanging around Wendy and her friends. It made him laugh when Tommy popped a sudden sex joke in the middle of talking about his work now at the sub store. He never talked about the fight ring. He knew it frightened Neil.

It was only in mid-February did Neil realize that Tommy no longer sent him anymore postcards. By then, he had gotten himself a laptop and chatted with Wendy online. She told him Tommy had quit his jobs and she hadn't seen him in weeks. Amazed at how fast he found the information, Neil contacted the superintendent of his apartment building and asked for him to check on Tommy Conlon at room 525. The superintendent said Tommy _Riordan_ at room 525 had moved out a month ago. Rumour had it that he flew to Pittsburgh.

Puzzled at first, Neil checked the name on the dog tag he wore on a black chain around his neck, "Tommy Conlon," He murmured, before looking back to the email. He recalled his time hanging out with Tommy at the trinket store. The manager also referred to him as Tommy Riordan. Why the false last name? Why run away so suddenly? The thought of Tommy in danger made his heart shrivel. The thought of Tommy forgetting about him did the same.

From that day on, Neil swore he'd find Tommy again.

 

He had three pieces of information to rely on: Pittsburgh, ex-marine, and his true name tied around his neck. The community college had recently been refurnished with brand new computers. Outside of his studies, English Mythology (Recommendation from Wendy), Neil spent his time researching Tommy's background. The first shred of information he found was a military record declaring him AWOL while his comrades were all listed as deceased. He recognized one name immediately: Manny, his brother in the corps.

With help from a hacker on campus, Neil found himself with Tommy's personal information straight from the US military database. He was breaking laws all over the country but to hell with that; he was Neil McCormick. Tommy's hometown was Pittsburgh, possibly confirming the superintendent's rumour. His mother carried the last name Riordan; perhaps he had taken her last name as a 'screw you' to the old man. There was a note detailing that Tommy had participated in what was called Project SOMNACIN. Neil ignored it; he figured it was some military training program. What caught his attention was the name _Brendan Conlon_ listed as Tommy's older brother. Tommy never spoke of him; Tommy spoke like he had no brother at all.

Brendan Conlon was his next mark. A simple search of his name revealed that he was a physics teacher in Philadelphia. It was perfectly plausible that Tommy went to visit Brendan but given how Tommy spoke of his older brother, it seemed highly unlikely. Neil concluded that searching up on Brendan Conlon would yield nothing useful. He shut the file for him and moved back to his previous material.

Manny's wife Pilar, courtesy of a collaboration between him and his hacker friend, lived in Texas with two kids as Tommy said. She never remarried and she was struggling with her mortgage. Could money have been involved? Tommy sent her all of his paycheck whenever he could. Neil watched him pack away hundreds of dollars just for her while he lived in a dump. Tommy seemed perfectly content beating at nobodies in an alleyway to make money for her. An opportunity must've arose.

The day was late. Neil sat by a computer far in the corner of the room with scribbles of notes all over his English notebook. He had constructed flow charts based on the information he had gathered about Tommy. The final section, circled in red, said 'money' with arrows pointing away to 'Opportunity?'. All he had to do now was cross-reference any big opportunities that could have pulled Tommy in. Neil reclined in his chair, pleased with himself. He'd never been quite amazing at anything but he found a true gift for collecting information about a target. Maybe he'd ditch English mythology altogether and go for being a point man.

"Hal!" Neil shouted, waving to the door as his hacker friend entered the room. He was a handsome fellow with a wiry frame and thick, crazy black hair. He was humble and quiet but headstrong when any opportunity to show off his computer prowess came up, "You think you can build something to cross reference big opportunities and mixed martial arts with Pittsburgh?"

Hal chuckled and sat in front of Neil, "Actually, we don't need any of that," He started his laptop, customized just for him, "We've got him right here," He typed out a few words, "Tommy Conlon, or Riordan, right?" Neil nodded, "Shit Neil, we didn't even need all those military documents," Hal turned the laptop to him. He was on YouTube of all websites.

The video was labelled "Mad Dog Grimes KTFO". Neil watched with absolutely beguilement as Tommy, still muscular and tattooed, beat Mad-Dog into complete submission. No movement wasted; no mercy given. Tommy looked like a monster even on a cheap phone video online.

"Well, what do you know?" Neil said, scrolling down to check out the description. The video was taken at a gym owned by Colt Boyd, trainer of Mad-Dog grimes who was slated to compete in the MMA Sparta tournament for a prize of five million dollars. _There was the opportunity_. Neil checked it off in green in his notebook. All he had messed up was _where_ the opportunity was.

So why was he in Pittsburgh? Neil flipped through his notebook back to the notes he had taken about his talks with Tommy. His father had trained him when he was younger. By the military records, his father also remained in Pittsburgh. He was also an ex-marine who was a hardcore mixed martial arts veteran. Perhaps back for training? Neil scribbled that note down too.

Hal chuckled, turning the laptop away, "You know, if the cops come get us, I'm saying it's all your idea, you crazy stalker,"

Neil laughed as he stood, shoving his notebook away, "Thanks Hal, you know, when you and Preston trade class rings, it's like you're married to him or something," He could see a blush creep onto Hal's face before he left the computer lab.

 

From that moment till the tournament, Neil kept as many tabs as he could about Tommy. He heard Colt Boyd, Mad-Dog's trainer, had pulled strings to get Tommy into Sparta. Other than that, Tommy seemed to have vanished again. No official trainers posted anything about him. No gyms, other than Colt Boyd's, listed him as a member. He was invisible; all that did was make Neil more excited as he searched.

When Sparta began, Neil knew he had hit a dead end. There was little more to do. He didn't have the money to go to Boardwalk at the moment. All he could do was cheer him on from afar. With his main goal postponed, Neil returned to his studies. An archive of Arthurian legends was upon his laptop but he was reluctant to start on the heavy literature. With his hair getting longer and no time to cut it, Neil opted to borrowing Eric's hair gel and smoothing all of his hair back. He liked the look; it made him appear older.

"Yo, Neil," Hal called out as he entered the library, "I think you should see this,"

Hal sat beside Neil. A video posted on the official Sparta website was running on his fancy laptop. It was a soldier, rugged with strong, sharp eyes. His voice was warm as he spoke of the hero who rescued him and his team from a sinking tank. His voice rose to an excited tone, like a child explaining his favourite part of the movie, as he talked about the soldier who tore off a tank door with his bare hands and disappeared into the night without even a thank you.

"Thank you, Tommy Riordan,"

"Holy shit, Neil," Hal said over the helmet-cam footage of Tommy rescuing the soldier, "You're Superman's stalker," He waved his fingers in front of Neil who sat dumbfounded watching the screen, "Neil? You short-circuited, man?"

Almost in a trance, Neil popped open the Sparta Official Website on his own laptop. Neil combed through it but found nothing more than a label when it came to information about Tommy. Every other competitor had at least a profile and photo gallery. Tommy had absolutely nothing other than a tab that contained his name. The only shred of information about Tommy was that single video.

He dove for his notebook, flipping back to a page of indecipherable scribbles to anyone that lacked a precise, keen eye like Neil's. He started his diagram: Ex-marine in the center bubble flowing into Tommy's enlistment as AWOL. Another bubble wrote 'false name' and then 'denying profile on official website'. Now this video, ending with Tommy running away. His final bubble: "Last secret in New York, untold". Neil believed Tommy was just aloof or shell-shocked. In red, Neil tied the bubbles together and labelled it.

Tommy was a deserter. Tommy was running away from the military. And now his face was all over the country.

Hal looked over his shoulder, a bit stupefied by how Neil had came so quickly to the conclusion. It took him a while to let the thoughts swim around his head. All their information arranged perfectly into this conclusion, "Oh my god," Hal said when the conclusion finally sunk in, "What are you getting yourself into?"

"I've got to go," Neil muttered, slamming his laptop closed and shoving everything into his bag. The horrible realization that he might never see Tommy again outside of the tournament dawned on him. He needed to get to Boardwalk and see him at least one more time or else the heart he worked so hard for would burst into pieces.

"Don't you want to watch the first match of Sparta? I was going to go watch it with Eric at his place," Hal said, standing up quickly.

Neil could spare the time. He eventually found himself at Eric's house, sitting on the floor, watching Sparta attentively. Tommy had a starting match. His opponent looked far more sophisticated than the street urchins Neil had seen him fight on the streets.

"What's with the hair?" Eric asked, taking a seat on the couch next to his boyfriend Hal, "You look like you belong on Law and Order," He touched a hand onto Neil's head, rubbing the gel between his fingers, "Wait a second, this is my hair gel! This stuff's expensive!"

Neil chuckled, stretching back on the floor, "Sorry Preston, it was an emergency,"

"Quiet guys, it's starting!" Hal shouted in a half-whisper as the final Sparta sponsor finished.

No music played as Tommy entered. All that accompanied him was the cheering of fans and the voices of the announcers, "...in an internet age where there are no secrets, this guy's a complete mystery. I can't find out anything about him," Hal and Neil chuckled to this, an inside joke Eric was unaware of.

Tommy had a thick black hooded sweater on that concealed his face. Neil watched as the elderly trainer behind him grabbed him on the shoulders only to be hissed away by Tommy. The hiss was full of bitterness that faded just as fast as it appeared.  

"...No walkout music, no sponsors, no interviews, he skipped the press conference, he wouldn't even have his photo taken for the program. He's breaking every rule!"

Consistent with Neil's analysis, Neil took pride in that.

With the sweater off, Neil could finally see his face. The first thing that caught his attention was how much bulkier Tommy had become. The man looked like a beast; the man walked like a beast. His face was still as frightening as it was back in that fight ring but now it looked aged as if all his rage was now concentrated. If anything, it made him scarier in Neil's eyes.

Eric and Hal leapt of their seats when Tommy took down his opponent with a single punch, mouth guard flying out at the impact. They hollered in absolute disbelief, clapping in hysterics. Neil was definitely impressed but not surprised in the slightest. He'd seen  
Tommy knock out opponents in a single punch. Without even acknowledging anyone in the cage, Tommy shoved the gate open and charged out pushing everyone aside.

"And he's walking out of the stage!" Eric shouted, leaping back into the couch, "Who does that?"

"Same old Tommy," Neil murmured to himself with a small smile, his voice hidden under Eric and Hal's cheering.

 

Neil had a stash of money saved from back when he was a hustler. For the entire night, Neil spent his time counting the bills over and over again. No dice, he just didn't have enough. His part time job at the local diner yielded little cash. It was already the third night of Sparta; Neil had three more nights to go before the tournament ended and Tommy disappeared again.

Alone in the park, Neil counted the bills from his commission in his hands, "Twenty five...thirty five..." When he reached the end of the stack, Neil growled in frustration and kicked at the dirt. He collapsed to the dirt, hugging his knees tightly while he crushed the bills in his hands. He sobbed quietly; he'd never be with Tommy again. Neil found himself looking to the cloudless sky and pondering: Does Tommy even remember him anymore?

"I'll pay you 100,"

Neil whipped his head up at the middle aged man standing before him. He was fat with thick greasy sausage fingers and a dirty grey mustache. He was only 300 away from grabbing a ticket to Boardwalk and securing a ticket to Sparta. Only two more johns and he'd be on his way to Tommy.

No, not anymore. Neil stood, brushing himself off, "Get the fuck away from me," He couldn't meet Tommy like this. He gave up hustling after Tommy saved him from himself. He wouldn't deserve Tommy if this was the only way he could make the money. Neil ran from the park, ran so he couldn't change his mind. He almost tackled his front door open, slamming it shut when he was inside and slipping to the ground. His mother wasn't home thankfully and didn't notice him nearly destroying the door with his body. His hands scanned the bills again, praying for them to multiply. It couldn't help but remind him of the stupid party toys Neil and Tommy played with back at the trinket store, rubbing two cards together until a third appeared. Neil let out a hoarse laugh at the memory of Tommy rubbing five cards out and unable to rub them back together.

The hoarse laughter dissolved into thick tears in moments.

Neil slid his fingers through his slicked back hair. He growled in frustration and threw his hands to the ground, head up in defeat. With his hands on the ground, his fingers brushed against a couple letters. Most were merely ads, Neil kept the coupons to the pizza joint to himself, but today, there was a letter from Wendy. He had received one from her just recently talking about how she had miraculously inherited a bar and business was booming. He peeled it open and withdrew the letter. It was on cheap paper and looked rushed.

_Hey asshole,_

_I bet you're watching Sparta, aren't you? I know who you're rooting for already. Go root for him in person, lover boy._

_\- Wendy_

_PS. You owe me one hell of a birthday present_

Neil swore time slowed at the moment, trying to draw out his anxiety. His fingers dove into the envelope, withdrawing two slips of paper: One ticket to Boardwalk and one ticket to a single night of Sparta. He covered his mouth, the wind beaten out of him by Wendy's kindness. He wept again, pressing the letter to his face.

"Thank you so much,"

 

The trip wasn't comfortable. Preparation wasn't easy. Having to skip a few days during midterm season was excruciating but Neil knew the payoff would be worth it. By the time he had settled into a cheap motel, Tommy had already beaten Mad Dog Grimes and placed in the finals. Neil could just imagine Eric and Hal hollering in disbelief while they were tangled on the couch. He watched as Brendan Conlon forced Russian champion Koba into submission. Victory beyond all odds ran in the family, apparently.

The night of the final battle began. Neil had a single ticket from Wendy and put it to good use. As he got dressed in a fine black beater with jeans, the Sparta preshow ads were suddenly cut short. The 'BREAKING NEWS' banner flashed upon screen and the mention of "Marine Sergeant Thomas Conlon" immediately caught his attention.

"Oh god no," Neil murmured, in the middle of slicking his hair back. The truth he fought with all his heart to find was finally out.

"...went AWOL this year after a friendly fire death of his brother-in-arms Sergeant Manny Fernandez..."

A beautiful, Hispanic women appeared on screen, speaking through her tears. She must've been the woman who Tommy sent money to. The secret Tommy had tried to tell Neil before was now broadcasted over the country: The death of all his comrades and Tommy's desertion.

"Conlon, who is fighting in the martial arts mega tournament Sparta is expected to be taken into custody by military police following tonight's winner take all match..."

He didn't bother turning off his TV. Neil chucked his brown leather jacket over his shoulders, smoothed out his hair, and ran as fast as he could with his Sparta ticket tucked in his hand. The taxi was fast; the crowd was fast. Everything moved in hyper speed. The adrenaline drove Neil forward. All he hoped for was that his time with Tommy, if it even existed, wouldn't move by as fast.

The crowd was utterly ferocious in the arena. At best, Neil only made it into the center of the crowd unable to reach the cage unless he really fought for it. The idea crossed his mind but he'd rather not get thrown out after getting so far.

Classical music came first; Brendan Conlon entered the arena jabbing at the air to warm himself up. Neil burned the image of that man into his mind; Tommy Conlon's older brother.

There was no music. He was completely shrouded in black and hidden amongst the crowd but loud cheers signalled his entrance. Neil jerked his head towards the arena entrance, doe-like eyes wide with anticipation. He'd recognize his bulky stature and aloof walk anywhere. He wanted to smile, laugh at how Tommy had really not changed at all yet the darkness looming over Tommy drained all happiness from Neil. He wanted to rush through the crowd, wrap his arms around Tommy, and promise him that everything would be okay.

In his dreams, maybe.

Tommy stepped onto stage after tearing his sweater off. Neil's eyes couldn't help but study his finely sculpted body now even more pronounced with hefty muscles. Brendan had mumbled something to him on stage; Tommy ignored him completely with nothing but feral rage in his eyes. Neil quivered in fear at first, only to have his fear silenced immediately as Tommy turned from him.

A butterfly, made from tribal strokes and spikes, was tattooed to the back of his neck right beneath his left ear. Neil would never forget the single time he lay with Tommy, clutching to his bulky shoulders, suckling right beneath his ear till he made sure he left his mark on him. Neil wept a single tear, wiping it away as some bystanders gave him questioning looks. Tommy hadn't forgotten him and even if he did, he imprinted Neil's existence into his flesh.

"Go to war!"

The peace Neil found in Tommy's memento of him was lost immediately as Tommy stepped forward and wailed at his brother like a wild animal. The crowd cheered on as Tommy lay his older brother to waste with fierce punches. The crowd was excited; Neil was scared. He'd never seen Tommy's face so twisted in rage, confusion, and hatred even when he was in the fight ring.

"Tommy!" Neil shouted, only to be lost in the crowd.

The fight was painful to watch. Every sound of Tommy beating mercilessly at his brother made Neil shiver. Standing there, lost in the crowd, drowning in the sounds of utter violence and rage, Neil realized he never knew Tommy at all. That night at the bar, Neil poured out his entire heart to Tommy, even its darkest moments. Looking at Tommy now, a rabid animal thirsting for his brother's blood, Neil couldn't recognize him at all. He almost turned away; he almost ran away and left the man he never really knew.

His fingers fell upon a tiny die inside his jeans pocket. His memory of the dumbly smiling, aloof fighter sitting in a trinket shop getting amused by cheap tricks kept him cemented in place. His gratitude to Wendy kept his eyes open. His love for the Tommy he used to know made his heart bleed with every punch Tommy threw.

Eventually, Brendan had Tommy pinned down to the floor. Tommy wouldn't give in; Neil could see it in his face. A desperate hound will never stop trying to struggle out of a bear trap even if all it can do is harm itself fur-

SNAP

The crowd cheered but Neil's world went silent. Tommy hollered in pain. Brendan immediately twisted away and knelt to his brother. Tommy lashed out at him, only to be separated by the referee. Brendan's trainer, Frank Campana, rushed to Brendan's side with water and towels.

No one went to Tommy.

Tommy sat alone by himself in the corner of the cage clutching his popped shoulder which must've sent sharp pain throughout his entire upper body. His face was twisted in pain. He panted heavily, trying to swallow down the pain with mere adrenaline and willpower. In the middle of his suffering, Tommy whipped his head around, searching around the cage for someone, anyone. Upon the jumbo-screen, Neil caught it immediately. A single tear coming from Tommy, his whole body quivering in pain as he searched his empty corner. Neil never saw Tommy so angry. Neil never saw Tommy so broken.

And then Neil was sitting in the train, utterly broken and bleeding. Tommy towering over him, offering him an arm, carrying him to safety, repairing his black-hole of a heart.

"Tommy!" Neil shouted, damning the rules as he shoved at the crowd and wrestled his way to the front of the audience, "Tommy!" He shouted again.

The match had started before Neil could reach the front. Tommy, face still twisted in pain but now hidden in rage, still tried to fight back even as his brother begged him to stop. His broken arm hung unresponsive on his side. There was no way he could win but Tommy tried anyway.

When the fourth match ended, Tommy was in tears when he collapsed in his corner pressing his forehead to the corner post. His body racked with sobs. He kneaded at his broken arm, as if that could soothe the pain. He sobbed into his good arm. He had run out of rage, ran out of hate. All that was left was pain, sadness, and utter loneliness to fuel his will to fight.

"Tommy!" Neil shouted, now at the front of the audience.

The teary eyes lifted from his arm, shifting to their left when he heard the source of the voice. Neil wasn't sure Tommy saw him. All he knew was that his voice had caught his attention and now Tommy was looking in his direction with his face struggling to contain his sadness. Neil merely watched him, eyes sad and worried but not scared anymore. He called out again and Tommy released the fence, heading back into the ring with his brother.

The crowd was restless, cheering for Tommy with false care for his well being. As Brendan held Tommy in a choke hold, he screamed his apologies begging for his forgiveness and acceptance as brothers. Neil watched fervently, screaming to Tommy through the rowdy crowd. It was inevitable at this point. Tommy tapped out. Brendan never left his brother's side. Frank Campana rushed into the cage, shooing away the referee and cameramen as Brendan helped Tommy to his feet and draped an arm around him like a shield to the invasive masses. Neil fought to reach him, pushing through the crowd so he could get one word to Tommy before he was taken away forever. In the end, the crowd won out and Tommy exited the arena with his brother protecting him.

At this point, any normal person with a maddening crush would have accepted his destiny and left the arena, letting go of his once-true love. With the access to advanced-hacking technology, Neil was not a normal person. Earlier that day, Neil had retrieved an old floor plan of the entire stadium. Lucky for him, he discovered the maintenance tunnels that were once used to transport stage crews and celebrities undetected. They were now abandoned after the recent investment in bodyguards. Neil slipped into the maintenance tunnels, following the map to his destination at the preparation rooms for each competitor.

God, he really was turning into a crazy stalker.

The thought came and passed. He left the maintenance tunnels but two military officers by the door still stood in his way. He heard quiet murmurs, mostly male and obviously Brendan Conlon. There was a female voice as well, possibly Brendan's wife and the loud barking of Frank Campana. Tommy remained silent as Neil expected.

"Excuse me, no fans are allowed in this hallway," Neil turned to the MMA security guard who stood behind him.

"I'm a close friend of Tommy Conlon's," Neil replied, backing away, "Please, I just need to see how he is,"

"Sorry, no visitors. Not now," The guard replied, reaching for Neil.

Neil slid back, rushing to the door coveted by the military officers. _Abso-fucking-lutely brilliant, Neil_ , Neil muttered to himself as he put the cliché "jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire" to full effect. The officers grabbed him, securely gripping one arm each and pulled him away.

"Tommy!" He shouted at the door. The room silenced immediately, "Tommy! Please, I need to see him!" By now, he sounded like an obsessively lovesick fan from how he pleaded. He caught the sound of Brendan Conlon shouting with a worried tone, "Tommy!" Neil shouted again.

The door opened. The officers paused and looked to Tommy who stood by the doorframe still with a dislocated arm. His face was red from crying; that much was obvious. By now, his face betrayed little sadness. It slowly switched back to his aloof, unfriendly expression.

"Tommy..." Neil murmured, watching the man with pleading eyes. _Do you remember me?_ He struggled once, trying to pull his arms free from the officers. The officers released as Tommy approached Neil with an unreadable but still aloof expression. The redness was fading from his skin, Neil noticed.

Before Neil could voice his crucial question, Tommy came forward and crushed his lips against Neil's. He came at him with such force that he ended up pinning Neil to the wall behind him. His good hand came up and gripped the back of Neil's head, thumb digging into his soft cheek. Neil struggled at first, those plush lips bruising his own. When his brain finally registered what was happening, Neil's hands found themselves gripping Tommy's head, pulling him even closer than he possibly could have been. One hand eventually glided over Tommy's back, slick with sweat and radiating with heat.

Tommy wasted nothing with the kiss. Their first kiss was chaste, amateurish but Tommy planned on correcting this. His lips bruised Neil's from how hard he pushed against him with one hand keeping his jaw in check. He plunged his tongue deep into Neil's mouth, tangling with his tongue in a wild dance. When he pulled away for breath, he'd nip at Neil's lips and massage them with his teeth before plunging back in. Soft moans of approval came from Neil anytime Tommy came up for air.

It was safe to say that this was Neil's most amazing kiss he'd ever had. He'd easily trade sex with any man for the rest of his life just for this single passionate kiss. With difficulty, Neil pulled away and stared into Tommy's now lust filled eyes, "Someone's gotten a lot better at this," Neil said with a small smile. Tommy didn't smile but his eyes glowed with happiness. He pressed his lips back onto Neil's kissing softer this time but still with much tongue.

When Tommy's passion ran out, just as his rage had on stage, Tommy fell into Neil's arms and nestled his head in the crook of Neil's neck. He hugged Neil tightly with his good arm, pressing into him as if his life depended on it. Neil brought both arms around him, clutching him tightly. Just as all those nights before, the natural cologne radiating from Tommy intoxicated him and he found himself helplessly entwined in Tommy's embrace.

That's when he felt warm tears pooling at the collar of his shirt. Tommy's back shook with hysteric sobs. His body jumped when a hiccup began building in his chest. Neil kept his arms tightly around Tommy, hugging him through his sorrow, "I've got you," He murmured to him, stroking his head as Tommy wept. He hushed him when Tommy broke into a pathetic wail and buried his head against Tommy's hair so their heads remained tucked together.

When Tommy's hysterical crying subsided, Neil looked up to the officers awkwardly glancing away, pretending that they had not seen a single thing. Brendan stood at the doorframe with a sympathetic yet completely astounded look on his face. The blonde beside him maintained a stoic, worried expression. Frank Campana was absolutely amused, trying to fake a solemn expression over an obvious need to laugh at Brendan. Neil figured he'd get along with Frank.

Eventually, Tommy released Neil and left with a military doctor to get his arm examined. This left Neil alone with Brendan, Frank, and Tess who he correctly assumed to be Brendan's wife.

"So, we met in New York. He helped me out through a really rough patch in my life," Neil explained their first meeting to them, "After that happened, we parted ways. Then we met up again," Neil chuckled to himself, looking down at the red die in his hands, "I thought, you know, it must've been destiny. Fucking stupid, I know, but then we kept eating lunch together. Then we started telling each other secret things we haven't told anyone," A sad smile came on Neil's face, "And then we parted ways again. I went back home and a year later, Tommy disappeared from New York."

"Went to train for Sparta," Frank filled in, "Makes sense,"

"So, you're friends with Tommy?" Brendan asked, obviously still trying to wrap his head around his brother's sexuality, "And, how long have you known he was gay?"

"Brendan!" Tess said with an arched brow, "Really? That's your most important question?"

Frank laughed at the words coming from Tess, "Good to have you on board then. Neil, right?"

Neil nodded quickly. Brendan sat down on the bench, taking a sip of water quickly, "That's good. Tommy never opened up much. It's good to know that he's got real friends out there," Brendan kept his eyes away from Neil. He definitely looked curious but afraid to delve into his brother's private life, "So, you and Tommy," He started, his voice baffled and shy, "Have you done _that_ yet?"

"Brendan! You don't just ask people that!" Tess scolded. Frank almost fell off his bench from laughter.

Neil laughed along, a faint blush building on his face, "We've... um," Brendan reeled back just from the blush and hesitation, "Notyet."

"Yet!" Brendan shouted, his voice going up several octaves. Frank fell into a fit of laughter again. Even Tess smiled a bit.

"You asked," Neil commented, chuckling against his hand.

"Are they bothering you?"

The four immediately turned to the door to Tommy who stood by the doorframe with only a bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Brendan leapt from his seat and ran to Tommy's side immediately, "How's the arm?"

Tommy lifted the arm, it was still clearly sore and slightly swollen but relocated into his shoulder, "Popped it back in place. No permanent damage. Nothing broken," He explained, short and sweet.

"Good," Brendan nodded, patting his brother on the back before pulling him into a bear hug, "Good to see you up again, Tommy,"

Tommy nodded in acknowledgement. His attention immediately switched to Neil afterwards. His eyes glued to him. Brendan caught the gesture and backed away, giving him his space. Tommy walked over to Neil slowly, sitting beside him on the bench.

"Hey," Neil said softly.

Tommy gave him a smile so gentle that Neil could hardly believe that this man could become such a monster in battle. Neil looped an arm around him, pulling him close so his head rested against his own. Tess was first to step outside, signalling Frank and Brendan to follow. Brendan followed suit; he knew his brother would want alone time with Neil. Frank lingered, just to see if Brendan would react again. When he didn't, Frank left the room and shut the door behind him.

"Just us now," Neil said, stroking Tommy's head with a finger, "How have you been?"

Tommy gave a low chuckle, "Been better," He looked to Neil with an almost boyish look, "Missed you,"

Tommy's inviting lips made Neil melt just at the sight of them, "Missed you too," He cradled Tommy's head in his lap, allowing him to lie down on the bench and rest, "Thanks to you, I've become a fucking stalker. Do you have any idea how long I looked for you?"

"Had a lot to do," Tommy said, reaching a hand up to stroke Neil's chin. His fingers continued to search Neil's face trying to memorize all the details in his fingertips.

The two stayed in the position for a while saying nothing to each other. Tommy's fingers continued to trace the lines of Neil's face while Neil's hand brushed over Tommy's inked skin. His hands slipped down the side of Tommy's neck, touching the ink butterfly where he once kissed. Tommy's other, wounded arm came up. his hand touched Neil's as it stroked the butterfly tattoo.

"I love you too," Tommy said, eyes linked to Neil's. The confession so long ago finally reciprocated.

Tommy shifted in his arms, sitting up so he could meet Neil for another kiss. Both of his hands held Neil's face gently while Neil's hands rested upon Tommy's waist relishing in the rock hard muscles there. Tommy's hands moved up his face, pressing his fingers through Neil's slicked back hair.

"I liked it better when it was messy,"

Neil snorted, "I think it makes me look more professional,"

Tommy chuckled, digging his fingers in and messing up his immaculate gelled hair. His fingers moved like a massage on his scalp, loosening the gel and turning his hair into a wild mess, "Much better,"

Neil reached forward, hands combing through Tommy's hair, "You should try professional. You might like it," He commented with a huge smile as he shaped Tommy's sweat-slicked hair into a right-heavy comb-over, "There you go,"

"I look fucking ridiculous," Tommy said as he examined himself in the mirror across the room.

"I think it's cute in a manly way,"

Without words, Tommy dug his fingers back into Neil's hair and messed it up more. Neil followed, messing up Tommy's hair with his hands till it was just a jumble of light brown locks. In the middle of their petty fight, Tommy used his bulk to pin Neil down, preventing his invasive fingers from reaching his brown locks again. Tommy kept his hands threaded through Neil's hair. Both were smiling to each other but as Tommy's hand drifted down his face to gently brush his jaw, both their smiles began to fade. The heavy knock on the door sealed their fate.

Tommy shut his eyes, sinking his head into the crook of Neil's neck which was still damp from his tears.  Without words, Tommy lifted himself and kissed Neil one final time. Unlike the first kiss which was overflowing with passion, this kiss concentrated all of his warmth and love so he could deliver it to Neil in one satisfying burst.

The officers came in shortly after. Tommy left with them, eyes never leaving Neil even when he was turned away. Even in the empty hall, even when Tommy was no longer in the vicinity of the stadium, Neil watched on till Brendan mercifully pulled him away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funfact: that whole scene with Neil calling out to Tommy comes from an "actual moment" during Tommy's fight against Brendan. In the final scene when the music begins to play, while he's sobbing into his arm, Tommy looks to his left briefly before turning back to face his brother. I was like "INSERT NEIL HERE" and the rest was history


	3. A Truth so Beautiful

"Thomas Conlon, ex-marine sergeant," The suited, slender man in front of him said, "Do you remember Project SOMNACIN?"

Tommy sat before him in complete darkness except for the single desk before him illuminated by a hanging lamp. Project SOMNACIN, Tommy remembered it clearly. It was a military experiment where their dreams were turned into battlefields for training. His squadron was drafted into it. In the end, it was deemed a failure since no one could successfully recall what had happened after they went under even if they retained their memory before they fell asleep.

But for Tommy, it was different.

He retained all of his memory. He retained all the skill. He never told Manny who awoke with a foggy headache. Tommy kept it all to himself even how he learned to copy the enemy team's appearance and blend with them. It was easy like slipping into a new jacket just to warp his face and colours in his dreams. The first time he tried it, the enemy team was devastated with a betrayal. They never once suspected that Tommy had infiltrated their ranks. When they awoke, they could not remember a thing but an almost gleeful smile was in Tommy's eyes. Forging made him happy. Dreaming made him happy.

"Yeah," Tommy replied to the main, eyes lazily sweeping around the darkness of the room.

"In your entire squadron, you were the only one to retain your memories. And more," The man threw a file to the table, "From the observers, you began forging mere moments into the second trial. Forgeries were sloppy, we could tell you were a fake from a distance," Tommy snorted, offended, "But they were excellent for your very first time without instruction,"

"So what?" Tommy said, reclining in his chair.

"We are offering to clear your charges if you come with us and undergo dream-training," The slim man said, fixing his round glasses, "It will be an extensive 10-year training. We will forge you a new identity. You will start fresh as a dream professional and you shall work for us."

"Doing what?"

The slim man smiled almost cruelly, "Extraction, interrogation, simulations, and perhaps someday, inception," The man closed the folder, withdrawing it from the light, "It is your choice. Serve your sentence or come with us," The man folded his hands on the table, "And if you're the patriotic type, we promise that you'll be serving your country in either case."

Tommy scoffed. Either conclusion seemed unpleasant to him but only one would allow him to stay in contact with Brendan, Pilar, and Neil. Always Neil, "I'll take the job,"

 

After papers were signed and his belongings were brought to him by several guards, Tommy was brought to a waiting room. The room was slathered in grey: walls, floors, chairs. There could not have been a more bland design for any room than this. Tommy took a seat on one of the uncomfortable metal chairs with his suitcase sitting by his side. Guards were parked right at the door, watching him intensely.

A man came in next. He was blonde with a clean-shaven face and clean, blue eyes. He shot Tommy a quick nod and smile. Tommy ignored him, as usual, letting his aloofness be obvious. The man sat down beside him, shoving his suitcase in front of him.

"I think I recognize you," The man said, "Yeah, definitely recognize you. You're Tommy Riordan from the MMA tournament Sparta. I watched you a few days ago," The man held his hand out, "I'm Dominic Renning. Nice to meet you,"

Tommy shook the hand but didn't bother looking at him. Dom retracted slowly, letting the silence stew around them again until another person came in. This time it was a woman with fiery red hair and a matching fiery gaze. Immediately, Dom jumped to the chance of talking to her. She introduced herself to both of them, Mallorie Cottier. She was extremely friendly contrasting the sour Tommy who sat by himself with his gaze pinned to the walls.

The newcomers eventually began talking about how they had ended up here. Mallorie's story was simple. Her father helped developed PASIV, the machine used for dream-sharing, and she had been a common tester for the machine. To her, it was always just a game of constructing cities and nations with her mind. She never realized that it would have such powerful capabilities.

Dom's story was far less whimsical. He was just a graduate student when the PASIV fell into his possession. It had been presented during a seminar and the interns had accidentally left it unlocked in the storage room. Dom snuck in and stole it away, curious on what it could do. The first time he tried it on his girlfriend, he discovered that she had been cheating on him all along. The second time he tried it on his professor, he discovered the answer key for an upcoming exam. It was only after his seventh time did he get caught doing two years in jail before being bailed out by whatever this division was.

The two stopped talking when the slim man from before and several others entered the room.

"Congratulations, you three have been recruited into Project SOMNACIN," The slim man began, "We are the first ever dream division of the USA and you three will be the first trainees in the division. But firstly, Dominic Renning, Mallorie Cottier, and Thomas Conlon," The man threw three papers to them, "You three are officially dead,"

"What?" Dom shouted, scanning the papers. They were death certificates.

"You can't be serious," Mallorie said, "I still have family back home."

"Your old identities are now non-existent as are your past lives and family," A package was thrown to each of them containing passports, driver's license, anything that could have identified them, "From now on you are Dominic Cobb, Mallorie Fontaine, and Thomas Eames, trainees under the SOMNACIN division,"

The three were sent to their training facilities. Dom and Mal were sent to Manhattan to undergo 'extractor' training while Tommy was sent to London for 'Forger' training. Mal and Dom were fidgeting, teetering on the edge of regret and excitement. Tommy stood firmly on his decision. Either choice, serving his sentence or joining this dream division, seemed equally disagreeable so Tommy didn't bother thinking about it. Aboard the plane, he shut his eyes and thought about everything he would leave behind.

He couldn't stop his thoughts from wandering to Neil.

_My first love_ , Tommy said in his mind before laughing hoarsely disregarding the company around him. Tommy never believed such words would ever enter his mind. They belonged in fairy tales and love stories, not his hectic life.

 

Tommy had expected a cement warehouse with lawn chairs and cheap tables scattered about as his training room. When he entered the five-star loft, he was completely blown away. The walls were pure white with expensive paintings in gold frames hanging upon them. The main room was a wooden table with Rococo details surrounded by comfy reclining couches. The only piece that stood out was the back wall where technological bits and pieces lay amongst piles of loose paper.

"Welcome, Thomas Eames. You can call me Henri," Henri, his new mentor, greeted, "You shall be staying with me for the time being. The rest of the team will be here later and we'll begin training then." Henri spoke with an impeccable British accent that drove Tommy mad from how uncultured it made his own voice sound.

"Team?"

"Yes, all extractions or training simulations must be done in teams," Henri explained, "The necessary roles are an extractor to retrieve the information, an architect to design the layout of a dream, and the point man to research the mark and provide design information. I am an architect."

"What about me?" None of the jobs seemed very appealing to him. He was not much of a conversationalist, he hated creative design even in high school, and research was plain boring.

Henri chuckled, looking to Tommy intently, "None of the above, dear Thomas. You have a natural gift. You are a forger," Henri retried a metal suitcase from beneath the couch, "We shall refine your natural gift. Someday, you'll be a priceless asset to this entire world,"

Tommy couldn't help but laugh. The term 'priceless asset' was not something he would ever had considered himself, "Whatever," He muttered quickly, taking a seat on the couch as Henri prepared the IV.

On the whiteboard against the back wall, a weekly schedule was drawn on. Tommy had never once seen Henri write upon the board but somehow it would always be updated the following week. As the board dictated, the first week was merely simple drills testing Tommy's prowess in the dream landscape. His military training plus martial arts experience gave him and his projections and insane upper hand against his lesser combat-inclined team members. It wasn't long until Tommy militarized his own subconscious merely from running simulations with the team.

Elizabeth, the point man of their team, jerked up violently as she awoke, "Bloody hell, Thomas, you lunatic!" She cried out, looking to see that Tommy was the only one still asleep. The other three had already been killed in the dream, "Seriously? You all died before me?"

"We thought we had the bank secured. We had rifles at every window," Elaine, their extractor explained, "Then Thomas blew us up with a goddamn rocket launcher,"

Henri laughed, detaching the IV from his arm, "I honestly wasn't expecting that." Henri watched the timer on the PASIV machine. His eyes fell onto Tommy who had the smallest ghost of a smile upon his lips while he slept. When he awoke, he burst out into quiet laughter, "Sweet dreams, eh Thomas?"

By the second week, Tommy began feeling out of place with his jeans and sweatshirts while his team was dressed in tailored suits that looked as if they had been fine-cut with lasers. He hadn't the money to buy any nice clothing so Tommy dug deep into his suitcase to find the fanciest piece of clothing he could find. He surprised even himself when he found a tweed blazer fitted with a pair of grey dress pants and a neon green T-shirt.

Elaine promised to go shopping with him right the moment she set her fashion-inclined eyes upon him. Sadly to say, Tommy's fashion sense wasn't much better even in the presence of fancy labels and well-cut suits. He ended up with a pile of pastel-coloured, paisley shirts and more ill-fitting tweed jackets. He also swung by a cosmetic store, picking up a bottle of hair gel. At first, he decided to slick all of his hair back but his memories with Neil compelled him to sweep his hair into a comb over. His hair ended up being the only part of his new appearance that the team highly approved of.

 Merely a year into training, Tommy had nearly perfected forgery. The first time he tried it, he tried to forge Henri. Instantly, Elaine and Elizabeth picked him apart. The eyes were too dark, his gestures were too conservative, the expressions were too subtle, Henri was a very spontaneous and blatant man. Even if Tommy had forged his appearance close enough, his mannerisms revealed him instantly to any close acquaintance.

From then on, Tommy took informal acting lessons from a former extractor coming to visit. It took him six months in real time but years in dream time to perfect reading a person's movements, gestures, and habits. When presented with a target projection, Tommy copied all of its mannerisms, right down to a twitch in the eye whenever they smiled. For the next six months, Tommy worked on copying appearances. With his enhanced detail examination, Tommy copied Henri down to the wrinkles in his brow whenever he faked a smile and the dimples in his cheek when he smiled for real. Days later, Tommy copied Elizabeth perfectly right down to the subtle sway of her hips. Hours later, Elaine had a conversation with a carbon copy of herself, both giggling at the funny inflections Elizabeth spoke with.

"Thomas," Henri said as he sat up from the couch, removing the IV, "You are a natural learner,"

A natural learner, Tommy snorted. Even with his entire self changed, the same words his father told him would continue to be echoed by other people.

For the remaining years, Tommy learned the even finer arts of forgery. Writing styles, eating patterns, laughter, things Tommy had taken for granted were broken down for him into a science. His physical forgery skills soon translated into another form of forging. He began replicating items, mostly poker chips since he and Henri had often swung by the casino during an off day. During a slow day when the PASIV had been malfunctioning and the team was busy fixing it, Tommy spent hours carving at red plastic and tinkering with metal bits. In his hand was a perfectly crafted red die. He tossed it several times into the table; it always landed a three. No matter how many he forged, Tommy was unable to make a rigged die which let the roller choose which number it wanted.

Three years past, the team finally trusted Tommy enough to let him use the PASIV without supervision. When everyone was asleep, Tommy would use the PASIV and practice his forgeries. Throughout his life, Tommy was told he was great at what he did whether it was martial arts or taking orders. No matter what anyone said, Tommy was never happy. He didn't understand the joy Brendan had when his father finally praised him for winning a tournament. Tommy assumed he was just so wrecked up by everything in his life that he couldn't feel normal happiness like others. There were only two aspects of his life that gave him true happiness: Dream-forgery and Neil McCormick. In his dreams, Tommy was in control of everything. Nothing forced him to do something he hated. Nothing forced him to _be_ anyone he didn't want to be. In his dreams, he had total control; he had true freedom.

Just like Neil had given him, unconditional love and freedom. There was never a set of expectations and requirements Tommy had to fulfil to earn Neil's favour.

Tommy sat down onto a wooden stool he had conjured up in a replication of his New York apartment. He let his memories flash by him like a video on fast-forward: Abused by his father, forced into mixed martial arts because he showed promise, forced to leave with his mother to escape from his drunk father, forced to watch his brother's face wilt in shame as he refused to leave with Tommy, losing all his money after his mother died and having to join the marines since he had no other choice, forced to watch his brother in arms and comrades perish from friendly fire, forced to enter Sparta and leave his true love for the sake of his brother in arms. Forced to part again when the military arrested him. Forced. Forced. Always forced. Out of his control.

Not anymore, not in his dreams. Tommy looked up at his reflection in the window. He watched as it flickered from himself to Henri to Dominic Cobb to Brendan Conlon and then to everyone he ever knew. In seconds, he flawlessly forged hundreds. The flickering forgeries stopped when he had forged himself into Neil. Tommy stood in his new appearance, examining his walk through the reflection of the window. Neil had a lazy toss to his shoulders when he walked. His hips swayed almost like a woman's, seductively. Neil's actions were jerky, instead of merely taking a cigarette from his mouth, he'd whip it away lazily.

Tommy laughed at how well he had forged him. He corrected his laughter a second later, replacing it with Neil's throaty chortle. When the laughter died, Tommy approached the reflection on the window and pressed his forehead against it. His hands flat against the glass touching the reflection of Neil who copied his actions. His first love, his first unconditional lover, forever separated. This forgery was as close as he would ever get to him.

On his sixth year, Tommy had built up an English accent from all his time spent in London. With his gaudy clothes, new voice, and newfound happiness, Tommy was barely recognizable. He wondered about Brendan and Pilar; would they still recognise him?

"Here you are," Elizabeth broke him out of his daydream, tossing a file onto his table, "That's the info you wanted me to dig up about your family, right?"

"Thank you darling," Tommy replied with a friendly smile, taking the folder into his hands. He reclined in his swivel chair, resting his crossed legs onto the desk in his room as he examined the contents of the folder.

Brendan Conlon was still a physics teacher but also ran a mixed martial arts program in school. On the side, he had recently won a teaching award and he entered small scale tournaments with his trainer Frank Campana.

Pilar Fernandez had recently found a job as a daycare service. The pay isn't high but enough to keep up her mortgage. Frank Campana occasionally sends her money from the gym under Brendan's request to honour Tommy's promise.

This was the fifth folder he had requested that held absolutely no information about Neil. Elizabeth said that she had found absolutely nothing at all as if his personal records were wiped off the face of the planet. His last folder stated that Neil had joined the army. There was no mention of his death or disappearance. It was like his existence just ended.

He couldn't let himself be too upset. There was no proof of his death. Anything could have happened.

On the final day of his training, the team threw him a party at the loft. The finest champagne was tossed around along with the finest Kenyan cuisine they could find. It was Tommy's favourite cuisine, strong and flavourful. Elizabeth had also sprung a platter of pulled pork subs with honey mustard dressing. Being a point man and all, Elizabeth had studied him well enough to know his typical comfort food after a long day.

"Our Thomas is all grown up," Elaine said, sipping her champagne, "Do you remember when you first came here? Messy mop of hair, jeans, thick American accent,"

Tommy laughed, biting into his sub hungrily, "I take offense to that last one," He said to her with his American accent fully restored. Tommy took a sip of champagne to wash down the pulled pork, "I think my family wouldn't recognize me if I came to them now. I barely recognize me," He said in his English accent again.

The party ended early; Henri successfully enticed him into going to the casino and gambling the rest of the day away. Elaine and Elizabeth left soon after, having to return to their jobs outside of dream training. When the day ended, with Henri and Tommy far richer than when they had left thanks to Tommy's forged chips, Henri turned a folder over to him.

"Your first job, go get them, Mr. Eames," Henri said, patting him on the back as he retreated to his room.

The man who he came to see as a father figure christened him a new name. Eames the dream-forging, fashion-challenged Londoner, Tommy's finest forgery was complete. But even so, a forgery was still merely a forgery. Henri and his team were experienced and level-headed. His first job was filled with pretentious extractors who saw themselves as the next James Bond of the Dream industries.

"We will replicate his bachelor pad in Tokyo and interrogate him there, thinking that he has been kidnapped by his enemies," The young extractor explained, circling marks on the graph for no reason.

Eames shook his head, reclining in his chair, "Too risky," The extractor glared daggers at him, "First off, we only have a photograph of his bachelor's pad from the outside window. Given that he's in the yakuza, he'll likely have weapons hidden in the room. Once he reaches for them and sees them missing, he'll get the hint,"

"Then we pretend we hid them,"

"Hid them, and didn't use them against him?"

"Mr. Eames, you are a forger without any extractor or point man training. Your inexperienced contribution is unnecessary," The extractor turned from Eames, shutting down their argument. He continued as if not interrupted at all. Eames sulked as he reclined in his chair once more, glaring out the window.

For that entire day, Eames spent the briefing scoffing quietly and rolling his eyes. At the lunch break, the architect tried consulting Eames about the layout of the dream only to be rudely pushed aside as Eames headed to the bathroom.

No surprise, the job failed spectacularly fast. It only took the mark ten minutes to realize that the floors of his bachelor's pad were wooden and not carpeted as the poor resolution photo suggested. The projections tore them apart and the mark was transferred to another dream-extraction team.

"Told you," Eames hissed at the amateur extractor.

"Shut the fuck up, you're not an extractor. You're a forger, a tool in the big picture," The extractor hissed back, shoving at Eames roughly, unfortunately provoking him.

Eames threw a punch at him. And then another. And he held absolutely nothing back.

For the next job, the extractor for the case was replaced by an older, far more experience woman. The point man and the architect kept their distance from Eames and never spoke up against him, fearing his animalistic wrath. From this job, Eames realized that it wasn't just physical provocation that caused him to lash out.

In this job, they were tasked to extract an amnesiac's memory of a bombing. The extractor proposed remaking the scene and having the amnesiac fill in the attackers with projections of what he saw. Eames agreed with the plan and subsequently, so did the point man and architect. Everything was perfectly fine till the bombs started going off, Eames, forging the amnesiac's best friend, stood point blank from the explosions. Part of their script, Eames was to be knocked to the ground by the explosion and later shot when he tried to escape based on witness testimony.

The instant Eames was knocked to the ground by an explosion, the sounds of bombs dropping whistled through the air. The rubble beneath him was morphing into a trench. Eames's forgery fell. The instant he saw the assailant projections ready to shoot him down, Eames forged himself a gun and shot them down mercilessly. The extractor ran to Eames, hoping to calm him down, only to be shot up violently. The point man immediately turned the gun upon himself, collapsing the dream before Eames had the chance to kill their mark.

"Mr. Eames," The point man said, tearing the IV from his arms, "Goddamn you," The point man fled the scene immediately before Eames could beat him.

The extractor immediately left her chair and packed up her equipment, "I have _never_ failed a job in my life," She hissed over her shoulder to Eames, "You've ruined my perfect record,"

Eames shrugged lazily, "It's just a job," He said, his English accent sounding far less pronounced.

"I suggest you find yourself some help, Mr. Eames, or perhaps a job change," She said, walking past him in a huff.

Eames steeled his heart and proceeded to his next jobs. Given his poor starting record, he was relocated to simple forgery missions involving domestic abuse or thievery. Needless to say, he had successfully completed some of the jobs. However, given the ease of such missions, anyone would've been expected to finish all of the jobs perfectly. His first failure in this new field came from a rowdy architect who refused to edit his landscape even to accommodate a backup fire escape. A few arguments later, Eames threw a punch and sent the poor architect to the hospital with broken ribs. Another job with Eames as the dreamer ended with Eames getting shot in the back while simulating a police chase. The pain of the bullet sent him into relapse and the world began morphing into a desolate war zone. His final case ended in the worst possible way. They failed their first extraction method: having the mark think that he was back home with his friends. This time, it was because the mark recognized the extractor from a report he had received from his right-hand. They went for the interrogation method with Eames threatening to snap his arm if he didn't talk. The man was prideful and stubborn, rather taking pain than ratting out his comrades. Even in excruciating pain, the man hissed horrible things to Eames, unaware of the beast he was slowly luring out.

Eames snapped his arm, then he snapped his ankle, his wrists, his fingers, his legs, and then finally, his neck. They hadn't gotten the information, Eames was completely out of control. When the dream ended, their architect threw up on the side of her chair. The point man stood from his lawn chair, pointed his gun at Eames and ushered him out as fast as he could.

"Thomas Eames," It was the slender, suited man, sitting before him again in a completely dark room with a single lamp with his face completely obscured, "We've gotten some... less than desirable results from your records,"

"I lost control. It won't happen again,"

"I'm sure it won't," The man's voice was slathered in sarcasm, "If you were any common point man or extractor, we'd have you fired by now. Unfortunately, you're a forger and forgers are a rare commodity," He talked of Eames as if he was an object, "We're giving you two weeks off from work. Have everything sorted out by then or else we'll be forced to eject you from your position,"

Eames's eyes scanned the slender man, "And what if you do?"

"Then you will go back to serve your sentence as a deserter," The slender man replied, "So for your sake, you better get it under _control_ ,"

The word 'control' slithered under Eames's skin. He didn't understand; he had everything under control. He'd built himself a new person to face the world. It was just that the old him was still leaking through his forgery. No, bursting through this forgery. The pressure of his past pushing against the barriers of his forgery like a bursting dam. He had to do something fast before his past burst through with no restraint whatsoever.

Eames was given a temporary flat in Mombasa where he had done his last job. He opted out from resting in the flat to go to a small casino down the street. Only there could he truly calm down and think. There was no way two weeks of therapy would fix him up. He needed to think a little bigger. He needed to _dream_ a little bigger.

Using forgeries and notes he had stolen off Elizabeth back when he trained with Henri, Eames successfully acquired a PASIV device and found a powerful sedative from a skilled private chemist named Yusuf. According to the notes, this sedative had the ability to forge two levels of dreams using only a single dreamer for both.

He had the equipment ready, now he needed a plan.

"Symbolic extraction," Eames read a new article featured in the dream-professionals weekly post, "Treating the dream space less as a stage for extraction to happen and more as a fortress of the mark's mind. By using symbolism, guarded secrets can be represented using guarded structures like banks or safes. Likewise, intimate memories can be uncovered by crafting an intimate structure like a childhood toy box and having the mark fill the toy box with their projections,"

He flipped to the next article he had saved, "Memory repression," Eames began, "When suffering a traumatic experience or overwhelming stimulus, it is natural for the human mind to suppress such memories creating a blank space where the memory should have been. In some cases, the human mind will fill in this blank on its own with another memory. With enough persuasion, the subject might begin to accept this fabricated memory as the truth over the actual event. This has been known to lead to personality changes or in extreme cases, a split personality depending on the nature of the repression."

These were the keys to his recovery. He couldn't let his ill temperament and violent nature bleed through again. As Tommy, he didn't particularly care when his violent, animalistic nature appeared since he had such little to stand for. As Eames, the stakes were too high.

He prepared the PASIV device, inserting the new sedative into the machine. He stared at the IV for a while, watching the needle intensely. This would either give him exactly what he wanted or absolutely ruin him. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Eames swallowed his breath and inserted the needle, starting the machine.

He crafted the first level as a simple room without windows. His second level was a perfect replica of the trinket store he had worked at with Neil. The blinds were closed so Eames wouldn't have to craft the outside. This left the entire store pitch black with only a single bulb hanging in the back to illuminate the store. The store was as he remembered it, stupid little trinkets and toys which he spent his lunch hour playing around with them beside Neil.

Eames headed to the back. By the time he reached the light, his form was completely transformed back into Tommy Conlon dressed in a black hooded sweater with a black beanie on his head. He caught sight of himself on the reflective surface of a trinket. He sighed heavily, almost ashamed, as he headed past the light and into the dark corner of the store.

He probed through the darkness till his hands fell upon a box. It was cold as steel and decorated with steel hands gripping at the sides as if it were pulling the top apart. Eames remembered it clearly, the ugly metal hands constructed from tubing gripping at the lid. It was the only trinket that Neil never figured out how to open. Only Tommy, one tired day, knocked the box over lazily. One of the tubes popped open letting out a hiss of musty air. The box then popped open slowly. It was pressure sealed. Tommy never told Neil; it never crossed his mind.

To the man whom he told everything in his world to, this was the single secret he never gave him. This was the deepest, most buried object in his life. Eames popped open one tube, catching the dirt-smelling air that hissed out from the tube. The top opened slowly. It was empty, as he expected. From the pocket of his worn sweatpants, Eames retrieved three bottles of painkillers, the shameful fuel that Tommy had lived on just to get through his depressingly worthless life. He shoved the bottles inside the metal case, fumbling to squeeze them into the narrow opening. Eames  reached again into his sweater pocket, retrieving a whiskey flask. How ironic that the alcoholic, furious father Tommy hated so much would end up reflecting in himself. Eames shoved the flask in and shut the case, sealing back the airtight tubes.

He shoved the case on the shelf far into the back so no light would ever reach it. Eames stepped away, shutting his eyes. His clothes felt lighter, he felt the stubble on his chin return. When he opened his eyes, the trinket store had crumbled away from him. His sedation had ended. He was back in his apartment in Mombasa.

From then on, his performance in dream-work was utterly flawless.

 

Eames went from a volatile problem case to the best forger in the business. People were literally lining up to get him on their team. His superiors never asked where the sudden change came from. Frankly, they didn't care. All that mattered was that one of their few forgers was back in the business. It made Eames feel like a pawn but hell if he cared. He might've been a pawn but it felt amazing to his ego.

His next job was another high-profile mission. They were to extract secrets from a war prisoner who was identified to be one of the high generals. The job took place in a rural district in Chicago. Low-profile, low-risk. They were given a warehouse hidden deep in the industrial district but fully equipped with PASIV, chemical lab, and other useful equipment.

Eames had flown all the way from Mombasa. He already missed the pleasant, dry heat of his home base. The chemist was already at the warehouse, working away diligently at new compounds. Eames attempted to flirt with her, "I'm married," Was the only thing she said to him, smiling sweetly before turning back to her chemicals.

Eames laughed, settling himself in a swivel chair as he examined the folder containing his team members, "What do you know about our team?" Eames asked the chemist. Her profile revealed her name to be Diane Li.

"I've worked with them before. Orlando Lackey, the architect, he's a real sweetheart under his neon highlights and eyeliner," Diane said. Eames smiled at the thought of the fashionable young man, "Arthur Riordan's a bit of a stick-in-the-mud and kind of detached but he's easily the best point man I've ever worked with. He really likes suits. Like, really, really likes them. The guy's so clean cut, makes me feel unworthy," Eames chuckled at the image in his head, "And Adrian Bacchus, that man, oh boy," She sighed dreamily.

"The extractor?" He'd had a fairly bad track record with extractors.

"He's great. Real professional, real handsome," Diane laughed, mixing a grey powder into the test tube in her hand, "He's quite old fashioned with his extraction techniques but he knows what he's doing."

Eames chortled to himself, imagining this oddball team in his head. The warehouse door creaked open, Diane immediately left her post to greet the rest of the team. Orlando rushed forward first, Eames recognized him by the red highlight and black eyeliner. His eyes only brushed over the dreamy blonde Adrian before they latched themselves onto Arthur Riordan. He was as Diane described: clean-cut suits, no-nonsense expression, professional disposition... and the face of Neil McCormick. Arthur's eyes fell upon Eames as well. Eames watched as Arthur reached into his pocket and began rolling something between his fingers.

A tiny red die.

Those were all the signals needed for Eames to act. Eames leapt from his chair, rushing over to Arthur with an almost gleeful expression, wrapped his arms firmly around the slim man, and kissed him passionately. One hand found itself firmly on the small of his back while the other pressed at the base of his neck playing with his gelled hair. He would've have deepened the kiss even further if arms dressed in peacock green hadn't came around Eames and jerked him back violently. Arthur followed suit, shoving his palms at Eames's chest.

"Mr. Eames," Arthur gasped breathlessly, wiping his mouth.

Adrian stepped between them, shielding Arthur, "Please refrain from such barbaric behaviour. We are in workplace. That is inappropriate, Thomas," The blonde man's glare was venomous.

Eames backed away, hands up in surrender, "Sorry, thought he was someone I knew," He said, pulling away and retreating to his chair with a look of dumb innocence.  

Throughout the entire briefing, Eames kept trying to lock eyes with Arthur who kept his eyes firmly away from him. When staring at his eyes failed, Eames turned his attention to the tiny red die he kept rolling around his in palm. Arthur could _feel_ the smirk coming from Eames as he played with the red die. Halfway through the briefing, Arthur pocketed the die and ignored it for the rest of the day.

"And so, the bottom line is that we'll be dealing with a language barrier so we have to keep communication at a minimum," Adrian explained, fixing his peacock green blazer. Diane was right, Eames thought, Adrian was absolutely gorgeous with an amazing head of blonde hair and smoldering gaze. His complete lack of colour coordination in his clothing was certainly a drawback, however, "Any question?"

Arthur raised his hand, politely waiting to be called. Eames merely spoke out, "Leave it to me for communication. I don't like to brag but I'm quite proficient when any sort of forgery, vocal or visual,"

"Your reputation precedes you," Adrian said, mockingly but with no malice, "As does your adoration with bragging," Eames smirked back to the man, "Very well. Arthur has information on al-Rawi's second in command. It'll be up to you to perfect the forge. Arthur, can you prepare this information for him by the end of the day?"

Arthur paused, his eyes firmly on Adrian and away from Eames, "Sure, I'll get it done,"

A day of fruitful planning passed. Eames easily considered Adrian to be the most stable extractor he's ever worked with, comfortable with practicing traditional extraction without dabbling with experimental techniques. Orlando, despite his outlandish appearance, was an absolute angel to everyone. Even when Eames accidentally stepped on one of his model structures, Orlando continued smiling on, rebuilding it without a hitch. Eames tried his best to keep his mind on his other associates or else his thoughts would uncontrollably return to Neil, or Arthur as he went by now.

Their meeting was unavoidable. Diane left first to take care of her family. Orlando left second, talking about online conferencing with some other point man named Harold. This left Adrian cleaning up in the main room and Arthur working away at his research desk in a separate room. Eames entered the room, watching as Arthur stood and sorted at the papers and photographs on his desk.

Eames took a single step towards him. Arthur said immediately, "I'm not done compiling the information yet, Mr. Eames. Please wait outside,"

"You're absolutely ravishing in that suit, you know," Eames says with a smirk, "Makes your arse look stunning,"

Arthur whipped around, indignant at his disrespectful words, "This is a professional environment." Eames lifted his hands up innocently, palms forward in a silent apology. Arthur turned back to his desk, shifting papers and photos around, hoping for Eames to leave the room.

As much as Eames didn't mind staring at Arthur's finely curved buttocks through his high-quality pants, his eyes eventually began wandering around the room. They eventually landed upon the red die sitting at the base of the table lamp, "So, you still have that?" He said, coming up close behind him and reaching for the die.

Arthur snatched the die away in a panic, backing away from Eames who had shortened the distance between them dramatically, "You're not supposed to touch it,"

"I wasn't going to steal it. I just wanted to know if this was the same die."

"It isn't," Arthur replied, "This is my totem. It's a constant used to check if I'm in a dream or reality. No one else is allowed to know how it feels or works except for me."

Eames leaned down, examining the tiny red die in Arthur's hands, "Clever. You come up with it?"

"No, Mal did. She was an architect I worked with back in Manhattan,"

"So, they're all dice?"

"No, I specifically picked this to be my totem. Mal has a top, for example,"

"And why'd you pick that?" Eames said in a low, almost seductive tone. He took a step towards Arthur, "Seems pretty specific, a red, loaded die," His voice got lower until it became a seductive growl he often used to seduce marks.

Arthur was backing away from Eames, hoping to make to the door but only managing to trap himself between the working desk and Eames, "It was convenient. That's all. Mr. Eames, you're out of line. I need to get back to my work,"

"Mr. Eames, Mr. Eames," Eames repeated, chuckling at each repetition, "If this is how it's going to be, why don't I call you Mr. Riordan?" He laughed, resting his hands upon the desk on either side of Arthur's hips, "Was 'Conlon' too foreign for you?" He leaned forward, lips hovering over Arthur's ear, stubble scratching at Arthur's smooth cheek, "Neil, darling, you missed me far more than you let on,"

"Eames!" Arthur shouted. He wanted to protest, fight the man off him, but he found himself completely silenced when Eames suddenly wrapped him in a tight embrace. His arms circled Arthur's thin body easily, his head nestled against Arthur's neck. Even after ten years, Arthur still melted at the natural cologne of Eames's body.

Eames crushed his body against Arthur's. He held him like he'd never hold him ever again, just like he had back in Sparta, "Neil, you have no idea how much I've missed you," He loosened his embrace, arms untwining as he looked into Arthur's eyes. Even though Arthur remained silent, his eyes reflected what he truly felt; mirroring Eames's words.

A folder stuffed with papers, photos, and tapes was pushed between them, "Eames, that should be sufficient for your forgery," Arthur said, fixing up his tie and waistcoat, "Please inform me as soon as possible if you need more information," Arthur watched as Eames's expression showed the slightest bit of melancholy, his eyes much softer than they were before. Arthur sighed, Eames's disappointment tugging ever so slightly at his heart, "I missed you too...Tommy,"

"Arthur, are you ready to go for dinner?" Adrian interrupted the two. Eames backed away immediately, folder clutched to his chest, "Thomas? You're still here?"

"Yes, just collecting the research from Arthur," Eames said, coolly as if nothing had happened at all, "Good day to you both," He headed to the door quickly, nearly shoving over a rickety shelf of spare notes Arthur kept by the door.

Adrian caught him by the shoulder with a firm grip, "Why don't you come to dinner with us? I like getting to know who's on my team," Eames sensed no malice in Adrian's words but he could never tell with that stoic expression.

"Sure, I'd love that," Eames said, shaking Adrian's hand firmly, exiting the room with the extractor in tow. Eames shot one glance back into the room, looking to Arthur, hoping to call him along. He stayed silent when he saw the guilt and shame building upon his face. Arthur, who kept up his poker face the entire day, looked like the guiltiest man in the world.

The three ate at a quaint diner just outside the rural district they worked in. Adrian and Eames spent time exchanging old stories about their previous jobs. Eames, of course, omitted all of his earlier jobs that ended in disaster. Eventually, they ran out of interesting stories and began talking about far more general topics. Every now on then, however, Eames noticed how Adrian's hand would glide over Arthur's hands, shoulders, and even his cheek. The contact would last no more than half a second but the gestures were intimate. Too intimate. It made Eames's heart sting with malice.

"So, this idea of using symbolism for extraction. Interesting idea, but it'll never work," Adrian said as he cut into his sirloin steak, "What is deemed 'important memories' to the mark might not be the same to an extractor. Let's say I'm extracting banking secrets. Sure, the banking secrets are important to me but the banker might see them as trivial."

"And you'll end up extracting his first date from the safe," Eames added with a chortle.

"Exactly!" Adrian said, laughing as he sipped his tea, "Arthur, sweetheart, are you feeling okay? You haven't said anything this entire time,"

Arthur nodded silently, poking at his garden salad, "It's been a long day. I'm just tired,"

Eames watched intently as Adrian looped an arm around Arthur's shoulders, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead. If Eames were a lesser man, he would've spat out the beer he had just took a sip off, "Alright sweetheart, we'll just pack up our food to go and I'll get you to a bed as soon as I can," He nuzzled at Arthur's head lovingly.

Arthur's eyes met Eames as he was nuzzled. Eames, the perfect forger, maintained a cheerful disposition even though Arthur knew this tore at him. Arthur looked away, giving Adrian a small smile as he pulled back.

"Can we get these packed up please?" Adrian called to the waitress. He stood from his seat, holding Arthur's hand as he did, "Bathroom, be right back," He kissed the back of Arthur's hand gingerly, leaving to the bathroom afterwards. Arthur almost didn't want to let go; he didn't want to face Eames alone after what had just transpired.

Eames reclined in his chair, eyes scanning out the window, "So," He started, "You and Adrian,"

"Yes," Arthur replied, "We met during a job,"

"Figures,"

"I should've told you,"

"I should've known,"

Eames sprung out from his seat, gripping tightly onto the back of Arthur's head and crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss. At the intensity and spontaneity, Arthur struggled violently, eventually slapping Eames hard against his cheek to make him break away. Without words or eye contact, Eames tossed several bills onto the table and rushed out the door. 

 

Everyone heard Eames as he entered the warehouse an hour late the next day. He casually slid into the main room, feigning puzzlement when he saw no one there, "Did I miss the briefing?" He said loudly, making sure his voice echoed to the private sections where his team worked.

"Thomas," Adrian called out, walking towards him. Today, he sported a wine coloured jacket with white turtleneck. Eames would have laughed at his gaudy tastes if he did not share in them, "What did you do to Arthur last night? When I got back to the table, you were gone and he was completely flustered."

"Is that the type of effect I have on him? Interesting, I'll take note," Eames pushed past Adrian, bumping his broad shoulder against Adrian's narrower shoulder, "Anyway, I've got work to do," Contrary to his words, Eames ended up wandering over to Orlando who had been describing his layout plan to Arthur. With a mischievous face, Eames reached forward and pinched Arthur's butt firmly. Arthur yelped, whipping around to see Eames walking off as if nothing happened.

Eames entered his private room which was specifically soundproof so people could not hear him practicing dialects and foreign languages. He sat upon the desk provided to him, playing over the tapes Arthur had scrounged up while reading his notes. He examined the photos, trying to copy the man's posture and poses. The man had a definite way of standing, slightly hunched over with his arms almost pinned to his sides. A knock to the door disrupted his practice.

Adrian opened the door, holding up a new folder, "Briefing in the afternoon, there was a hitch in our previous plan so we'll be reworking it after lunch,"

"I'm not surprised," Eames quipped, tossing the folder onto his desk.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, I'm not surprised," Eames said his words slower with a slightly malicious tone with each word, "I've worked high-level jobs before. This plan is absolute rubbish compared to them,"

"Well excuse me, Thomas, perhaps you'd prefer to take over as extractor," Adrian replied, coldness gathering in his glare, "I seem to recall that you were of those who supported my plan."

Eames shrugged, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, darling. I'm sure Arthur felt the same way, seeing that he's your squeeze after all. How was he last night? Hot and bothered, most certainly?"

"Grow up," Adrian said, turning to the door, "Briefing in the afternoon, don't be late," He shut the door tightly.

The malice in his words were only a weak balm to the festering pain in his heart. Eames remained calm, remained in control. He wouldn't let his fits of rage take over, not anymore. He examined the new material, using his work to calm him down.

When lunch came, Arthur and Orlando offered to pick up food for everyone.

"So tandoori chicken for you," Orlando said, pointing to Diane, "With a diet coke?" Diane nodded quickly before turning back to her chemical lab, "What's Adrian getting?"

Arthur looked to Adrian, shooting a sly look his way with a smirk, "Don't worry about that. I've got it memorized." Adrian circled an arm around his waist, pecking him on the temple before returning to his desk.

"And what about Thomas?"

Arthur yelped as he felt fingers prodding at his sides. He whipped around, glaring at Eames who had his hands hovering above his waist, "Pulled pork sandwich please," Eames said.

"Don't do that!" Arthur shouted furiously, face flushed a soft pink.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud. I was just playing around," Eames replied, pocketing his hands, "You're absolutely precious when you blush, darling. I envy the man who beds you, that lucky dog,"

"Whoa, whoa, hey!" Orlando separated the two, "Arthur, let's go. Thomas, get back to work," He took Arthur's arm, pulling him towards the door. His glare, and flushed cheeks, remained locked onto Eames as he was dragged off.

"See you, darling," He winked after his words.

When the two returned, Arthur rushed into his office and shut the door firmly. He didn't even want to look at Eames at the moment. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Eames had been expecting. Arthur's heart nearly exploded at the sight of Eames leaning against the wall at an angle that would've just hidden him away from the door.

"You're looking eager to see me," He said, "Got my sandwich?" He shifted his position, putting the exit right behind his back so Arthur would need to push past him to get through.

Arthur placed his food onto his desk. From afar, Eames deduced that it was probably some sort of salad, "Eames, what do you want from me?"

"No more 'Mr. Eames'? Such a shame, I was beginning to like the superiority behind the honorific," Eames said. His smile faded slowly as he spoke, "I think you know exactly what I want," He pressed a hand to Arthur's chest, sliding it down slowly as he felt all the curves of his body.

Arthur slapped the hand away, pushing past Eames's bulk to reach the door, "Good day to you, Mr. Eames," He gasped as Eames reached down and slid his hand up his thigh, over his hips, and onto his lower back. He swallowed his cry and rushed to the door, leaving the room in a huff. Lazily, Eames looked to the meal sitting upon Arthur's desk. Figuring that Arthur wouldn't want it anymore, he opened it up and started eating. It was a dressing-less salad with chicken breast chunks, bland yet vaguely satisfying.

From then till the briefing, Arthur kept his distance from Eames. Anytime Eames would appear, Arthur would move to another member of the team usually leaving all his notes behind. Adrian caught onto the behaviour, several times he went to lecture Eames only to be given the cold shoulder or a rude shove away.

During the briefing, Orlando started the coffee machine and everyone got themselves a mug to drink. As Arthur settled onto his chair, Eames stretched a hand out over the seat smirking as Arthur settled down on the chair unknowingly. Arthur yelped at the feel of Eames's hand on his buttocks and flinched, spilling coffee over his coat, "Shit," Arthur grunted, getting up from his seat and glaring at Eames as he wiped his jacket. Eames merely smiled back like a child playing an innocent trick.

"Damn it Eames," Arthur hissed.

"Don't be such a stick in the mud," Eames said again, reclining in his chair. He almost retched at the sight of Adrian scrubbing at Arthur's jacket with a handkerchief, "I think I preferred it when you were a prostitute. At least you knew how to have fun then. Becoming a point man made you boring,"

Arthur froze, his face blanching at his words. Adrian growled at Eames, "Enough! How dare you slander him with your lies," Eames merely cocked an eyebrow at Adrian's statement. He didn't know Arthur used to be a sex hustler. Assumingly, he didn't know Neil, "Get out of my sight. You're suspended for the day,"

"Fine," Eames said, standing.

Arthur fled first though, almost in tears. Adrian called out to him but he didn't respond. Before the extractor could chase him, Orlando stopped him with a hand and followed Arthur quickly. Eames scoffed, "I'm honestly not surprised that he'd prefer crying into his architect's arms as opposed to your scrawny arms,"

"Get out of my fucking sight," Adrian hissed.

Eames left, smirk on his face but not in his heart.

 

Eames almost dreaded coming to work the next day. His heartbreak translated so poorly into anger. He knew Arthur would hate him soon. He knew Adrian hated him already. Even then, Eames could not resist spitting malice at them both. It was the only way he knew how to cope even back when he was just Tommy, putting as much hate and abuse in his words when he spoke to his father and brother even though all he truly wanted to say was how his brother's desertion and his father's abuse made him feel so lonely and hurt.

He stepped into the warehouse, early this time, hoping to miss everyone and head straight to his office.

"Thomas,"

Adrian was by the table, watching him, this time in a fine cut, pitch black suit, "Ah, Adrian," Eames greeted, walking towards him, "I miss the gaudy colours. Black is just not your thing."

"Thomas, don't play stupid. You know what I'm here for," Adrian said emotionlessly.

"Arthur, of course," Eames replied.

"Stop harassing him," Adrian hissed, "Whatever personal issues you have with Arthur, you need to put that aside,"

Eames chuckled coldly, "God, look at you. How desperate are you? Arthur can defend himself. He doesn't need some _dog_ barking away for him," He couldn't tower over Adrian so he settled with merely closing in with a harsh glare, "Bet that's the only way you'll get laid. Running around like Arthur's little bitch,"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard what I said. Christ, at least have some balls when you're trying to pick a fight. Talk about sex and you play deaf," Adrian's cheeks were flushed at his words. Eames smirked at the reaction, "I bet you dream about it all the time, fucking Arthur over a desk, giving head, jerking him off. Maybe if you work hard enough, you'll finally get your cock into his tight arse," Eames pulled away, walking to his office with a victory in his mind.

Adrian laughed, pulling Eames out from his victory, "Is this what it's about? You want to make love to Arthur?" Eames turned only his head, staring at him through the corner of his eye, "On the contrary, Thomas, Arthur and I have been coupling almost every other night," Eames flinched, "The first time was our fourth mission together six months ago, successful mission. It was only fitting we celebrated. You should have seen him, lying beneath me, thighs spread like a flower, _moaning_ my name till his voice went hoarse," Adrian knew exactly how to push Eames over the edge.

"Shut up," Eames growled, turning to him.

Adrian approached, now the predator to his prey, "I've caressed, tasted every part of Arthur," Adrian leaned in, lips ghosting over Eames's, "And he's done exactly the same to me. That's what you want, isn't it? It's a shame you'll never get it," Adrian chuckled cruelly, backing away, "Every part of Arthur belongs to me. His body, his heart, there's _nothing_ he'd ever give you."

"No, not everything," Eames said. _He doesn't know Neil. He doesn't have that._ He didn't say anything. He didn't want Adrian to have Neil as well.

He threw a punch at Adrian instead, knocking him right in the jaw. Despite his wiry frame, Adrian was able to take the recoil fairly well and retaliate with a punch into Eames's stomach.

Arthur's entrance into the warehouse distracted them from their fight. He'd come in holding donuts and fresh coffee for him and Adrian to share. His eyes fell onto Eames but turned away immediately, "Adrian, got breakfast," He placed the sustenance onto Orlando's desk.

Adrian, saying nothing more, slipped over to Arthur and embraced him tightly. He planted a passionate kiss onto him. Eames expected Arthur to fight just like how he had when Eames kissed him. Instead, Arthur melted into his arms, returning the kiss ravenously. Adrian's arm's caressed down his waist, smoothing the folds. He pinched Arthur's sides, tickling him. Instead of yelping or jerking away, Arthur smiled, pulling away temporarily with a light-hearted 'stop' as Adrian continued tickling him during their kiss.

When they finally pulled away, Eames watched the heartfelt smile Arthur gave to Adrian, eyes squinting as he smiled. He had dimples, Eames couldn't remember that. Adrian knew Eames could only talk big. Adrian knew exactly how to protect Arthur from Eames. _Claim his property completely right in front of Eames_. In some cynical part of Eames's brain which hadn't been completely broken from Adrian's actions, he couldn't help but think he and Adrian really were just like dogs.

Eames left the warehouse immediately not looking back at the two. He could already picture the two of them smiling lovingly at one another, too lost in each other to notice anyone around them. He took his car, driving away as fast as he could. Orlando caught sight of him leaving, no doubt going to tell Arthur and Adrian when he entered the warehouse. He drove for nearly half an hour, aimlessly looking for something to distract himself with. As luck would have it, he came across a small daytime casino.

With a pack of forged poker chips from the glove compartment in his car, Eames entered. He played the slots for a while but when that bore him, he switched to roulette. He wasn't in the mood for poker or blackjack or anything he had at least a smidge of control in. If Eames could win big in a uncontrollable game, perhaps he could win again in his uncontrollable life.

"Eames,"

Eames knew who it was. He knew Arthur was behind him, calling to him. Eames ignored it, snapping a poker chip down onto square 52 before the roulette started again.

"Don't ignore me. You know we have to sort this through," Arthur talked despite Eames's continued silence.

"If I win this next round, you go on a date with me," Eames said as he placed his last three chips onto a square.

" Are you even listening to me?"

The roulette spun. The marble bounced, caught in the whirling motions of the wheel before finally settling upon 5. Eames sighed, standing up from the table and pushing past Arthur rudely. Arthur followed after him, watching that tweed-clad back fervently.

"Eames!" Arthur grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to look at him, "I don't know what Adrian said to you but please, just leave him out of this. Hate me all you want. Harass me all you want. Hell, hit me if you want to. I'm the one that hurt you, not him," Eames slapped his hand away.

"He doesn't love you, you know," Eames said without looking at Arthur.

"What?"

"He doesn't love all of you. He only loves clean-suits, sophisticated, stick-in-the-mud Arthur," Eames turned, slowly, "You know he'd leave you if he knew you used to be a sex hustler,"

"That's not true."

"Then why haven't you told him yet?" Eames asked. Arthur didn't say anything, couldn't say anything that wouldn't confirm Eames's statement, "I wonder what he'd say if I told him about everything, told him about Neil, New York, Kansas,"

"Don't you dare say a thing about Neil to him," Arthur said, almost growling, "Neil is...gone,"

His rage came suddenly just like it always had, "Gone? You think you could just forget your past?" _And forget me with it? Despite how much I cherished your existence in my life?_ , "Here, how about I help you out?" Eames withdrew a stack of poker chips from his jacket, stuffing them into Arthur's hands, "You can cash those in, buy more of your fancy, little suits and fancy hair gel so you can keep pretending that if you make yourself pretty enough, you can change the fact that you used to be a whore and you loved it," His glare was growing poisonous. Seeing Arthur's apathetic expression made him slap the poker chips out from under his hands, "Get the fuck out of here, you harlot!"

His burst of anger was followed by a sudden rush of regret. He had lost control again; this wasn't supposed to happen anymore. Eames sighed heavily, resting his forehead into his palm, "Shit, Arthur, I'm sorry," He muttered.

Arthur merely knelt to the ground, collecting the fallen poker chips in his hand. At closer examination, he noticed something off about the chips, "Casino is spelled with one n,"

Eames snorted, taking a chip into his hand, "Really now?" He swallowed his smile, pocketing that one poker chip, "I didn't mean to snap at you like that. I've been trying to keep all of that under control," He smoothed a hand over his hair, fixing his comb-over style.

"Just, let's go back to the warehouse," Arthur didn't say much, still mortified by Eames's anger directed at him. Years ago, Neil never believed Tommy's rage would be directed towards him. Arthur left first, he didn't want to talk anymore.

"I love you," Eames said. Arthur didn't stop, didn't hear him.His true feelings remained unheard. Just like always, he never could voice his true feelings. His rage always scared everyone away first.

When the two had returned, Eames constantly tried to talk with Arthur, apologize for lashing out. Arthur wouldn't listen, wouldn't stay. He kept himself occupied with the others, locking his door whenever he went to his office. This led to Diane and Orlando awkwardly acting as unsuccessful liaisons between them. Adrian merely kept glaring at Eames anytime he passed him.

The day went by slowly, only picking up when the rest of the team was ready to run a simulation of their plan. Eames volunteered to be the dreamer, quickly taking Orlando's designs into his head. Adrian kept his eyes pinned on Eames, trying to read the tricks he knew Eames was planning in his mind.

"You better not try anything stupid," Adrian said, laying back in his lawn chair as he inserted the IV.

"Would never dream of it," Eames replied, sticking the IV into his arm. He watched as Arthur reluctantly pushed the IV into his flesh, keeping his eyes away from everyone in the team.

"Good luck everyone," Diane said, activating the PASIV.

The fruition of their work came to be and it was absolutely perfect. With Arthur's research and Orlando's design, they had created a flawless Iraq army base. Orlando was the mark, using his architectural abilities to craft his subconscious into soldiers.

"I will be extracting projections of memories in the deeper recesses of the base. Thomas, you do it the old-fashioned way, impersonating this second in command," Adrian briefly quickly, pulling on a quick disguise, "Arthur, you're on standby," The two nodded to Adrian, splitting up in three directions after.

As the point man, Arthur was used to playing standby. He had no particular skills unique to him during the dream. He stayed out of sight, his appearance would make him stand out immediately in the crowd of projections. While hiding in a deserted alley, a pitch black butterfly caught his eye. It was out of place, certainly not one of Orlando's design. On its wings, Arthur noticed thick black lines drawn upon them like tribal calligraphy.

"No way," He whispered, watching as the butterfly fluttered towards a door by the end of the alley. If it had been anything else, even Eames himself, Arthur would've never taken the bait. But that butterfly, it'd always have a special place in Neil's heart. Arthur followed the butterfly, pushing open the door and entering the building.

Leaving the harsh military base in Iraq, Arthur entered what appeared to be a fancy apartment. The decor was almost regal and everything was well ordered except for the far table in the back covered in bits and pieces. There was a whiteboard at the very back with a single word written on it: _Darling_. A trail of arrows led Arthur into a bedroom. Upon the desk was a half-eaten pulled pork sub and a red die. It must have been Eames's desk. He took a folder off the table, examining its contents. They were reports about how his family had been doing. At the very back was a report on Neil, tucked away, stating that he had enlisted into the military.

"Eames," He whispered, shutting the folder. The black butterfly appeared again, this time fluttering its way to the front door. Arthur followed it, opening the door and entering the trinket store.

Arthur was honestly surprised how well it was replicated right down to a thin layer of dust over the top shelves, "It's dangerous to reproduce dreams via memory," Arthur called out, wandering deeper into the store, "You might start confusing reality and fantasy," His eyes fell upon a box set of red dice, the set he had bought when the manager had caught the two playing like children. He picked it up, examining it before leaving it back on the shelf.

He was about to leave the store through the backdoor, which had a butterfly drawn upon the door, until he stumbled over a metal case. Arthur knelt and picked it up. He instantly recognized it as that awful looking metal box he and Tommy had never figured out how to open. The metallic hands constructed from tubes were interesting but everything else appeared rustic and unpleasant. _Why would Eames want to show me this?_ He pried the box open a little, trying to peer inside in case Eames had sealed something he meant for Arthur to find. He gave up shortly after, dropping the box and leaving the trinket store.

He stood in Tommy's bedroom. Tommy's bed, with the covers all tossed around, still looked just as inviting as it had years ago. Arthur bent down, stroking the covers. They were warm just like that time when Tommy held him against his chest when he had cried himself to sleep. His eyes fell upon a metal garbage can in the corner with smoke rising from the opening. Arthur peered over the container, noticing a sleeve of fabric dotted with blood poking out from the ashes. _The shirt Tommy burned..._

Even though the intent was to rid the souvenir of his awful experience from the world, the sight of it still made Arthur queasy. He left the apartment quickly, not bothering to wait for the butterfly to guide him out. On his way out, Arthur noticed something peculiar. The apartment was too clean; there wasn't a single pill bottle or beer bottle laying around. He didn't think much of it and left anyway.

The final destination was the locker room, the place they had last met. Tommy sat on the bench, dressed only in his mixed martial arts regulation shorts. His hair was a messy flop just as it always had been before he became a forger. It would have been a perfect forgery of Tommy if he hadn't gave him that soft, sad smile only Eames was capable of giving.

"Arthur," 'Tommy' started, in an obvious English accent, "I'm sorry for giving you a hard time," He stood, walking over to Arthur. He felt almost silly from how contrasting the two looked at this moment, "It's just, god Arthur, you have no idea how important Neil was to me,"

Arthur looked away; the passion from Eames's voice was almost painful, "I forgive you. Just don't do it again and we'll get on with our lives," His voice was cold, clinical, "We need to get back to our job,"

"I couldn't move on," Eames ignored him and continued talking, "Neil, Arthur, you were the single person I could never let go of. The single person who loved me despite my flaws. My constant in this ever-changing, uncontrollable world. _My totem_ ," He brushed Arthur's cheek gently with the back of his knuckles, "I would've loved you forever,"

"I thought you were dead," Arthur said, cutting through Eames's passion, "Your brother said he received your death certificate. I thought I'd never see you again. What else was I supposed to do? I loved you, but I'm still a human being. I fell in love again. I moved on."

"If you knew I was still alive, would you have moved on?"

Arthur was silent. The softness in his expression made Eames feel weak. His second hand came up, stroking the other side of Arthur's face, "Adrian only loves one side of you. I love everything about you,"

"Yes,"

Eames cocked his head, confused.

"I would have moved on, even if I knew you were still alive," Arthur said. Eames's hands only pulled away briefly before pausing when Arthur pulled himself close and rested his forehead upon Eames's, "You were right. I can't cover up my filth with new suits or a new name. There's too much shit in Neil's life that I could never wash away. That's why I threw everything about Neil away, Neil's worthlessness, Neil's incompetence, even if that meant throwing Tommy away, as painful as that was to do," He choked the words out weakly but with complete sincerity. His eyes were sad, so unlike the clinical Arthur and so much more like Neil back at Boardwalk, "It's not you, it's me," Despite the seriousness of the moment, Eames and Arthur couldn't help chortling sadly at the generic line.

Arthur shut his eyes briefly, reopening them to see Eames in Tommy's place complete with gelled hair and poorly fitting suit, "Forgive me, Tommy,"

Eames's arms circled him. When Arthur didn't fight, Eames clasped onto him tightly, hugging him flush against his body, "Always," He released him slowly, running a hand through Arthur's gelled hair, ruffling it, "You can't just run away from your past," He said. Eames tried it firsthand. Even so, his malice and rage still leaked through.

Arthur's fingers pressed in between Eames's hair, messing it up just as Eames had down to his, "Maybe so,"

Music began echoing through the air. Their dream was ending.

The simulation was a failure. Eames claimed that he got distracted by some inconsistencies in the dream so he passed the job of the 'dreamer' to Arthur who was far more stable. Other than this, the job went off flawlessly. From then on, Eames kept his comments relevant and constructive as opposed to hate-filled. Arthur and Eames still avoided talking with each other but when they had to, their talk stayed professional. Adrian eventually stopped glaring at Eames, opting to just treat him with clinical professionalism. He still clung to Arthur lovingly, still trying to prove to Eames who Arthur had picked. Eames couldn't blame him; he would've done the same.

The job was complete. The team had a brief celebration with takeout food and cheap beer. With that, the team split up and began cleanup duty making sure they leave nothing traceable behind. All important documents were left to Arthur for government storage. Everything else, burned.

Eames sat in his room, windows wide open so he wouldn't suffocate. He tossed the papers into a flaming garbage can, coughing as a gust of wind threw smoke in his direction. He reached for the tapes next, nudging the can closer to the window with his foot.

"Thomas?" Orlando stepped in.

"Orlando, how was your day?" Eames greeted, tossing a tape into the fire followed by a sluice of gasoline when the fire began to die.

"Good, I was just wondering about something between you and Neil," Orlando said. Eames jerked his head up at his words, "You two, you've reconciled, right?"

Eames stood from his seat, closing the door behind them. He was glad his room was soundproof. Even if Arthur didn't love him, he'd respect his wishes of leaving Adrian ignorant to Neil, "How do you know of Neil?"

Orlando chuckled, taking a seat by the door, "Neil and I were friends since high school," He lifted a hand up, gesturing a handshake, "Eric Preston. And you, you're Tommy...Conlon?"

"Surprised you knew my real name,"

"Don't be. Neil was freaking obsessed with you," Orlando replied with a chuckle, "When we were in college, Wendy said you disappeared," Eames pondered, Wendy, that girl Neil had lived with back when he was in New York, "Neil freaked out when he heard that. You have no idea how badly he wanted to see you again,"

Eames smiled warmly; he couldn't hide his happiness, "So, is that why he got into the dream business?" He asked initially. Immediately, he retracted his question in his mind. Arthur thought Tommy had died till now.

"Kind of, I take it Neil never told you how he got into the dream business?"

"Never asked him. Figured he'd never tell me," Eames watched as Orlando checked the walls, scanning the door quickly, "Don't worry. I requested a soundproof room,"

"Figured, never heard you practicing," Orlando said, turning back to Eames, "Anyway, Neil wanted to see you really badly. He got into research, point man research. Back then, I just called him a crazy stalker. I figured he was just googling names or checking Facebook. My fiancée, a friend of Neil's, only told me the year he was arrested that he and Neil had been hacking government records to find information about you,"

Eames felt as if his stomach collapsed on him. Eyes wide and disbelieving, Eames's mouth twitched with words but was unable to make any come out.

"It happened when Neil joined the army. Hal was caught first and Neil was pulled in afterwards. But, Neil participated in something called Project SOMNACIN. That saved him and Hal. Some men took them away and that was it,"

"Thank god," Eames said, dragging his hands over his face in relief, "What about you? How'd you get here?"

Orlando shrugged, smirking, "Hanging with the wrong crowd, I guess. Hal and Neil became point men. They went looking for an 'architect' and somehow, I got hooked in. I guess that happens a lot." Orlando stood, brushing his clothes off, "Anyway, I just wanted you to know that Neil loved you for a very long time, more than anything in this entire world. Letting go of 'Neil' and becoming 'Arthur' was one of the most painful things he had to do because it meant leaving you behind."

"Don't hate him. Please,"

Eames nodded, sad smile on his face, "Okay,"

Orlando headed to the door, opening it and taking a deep breath, "You might want to take your burning outside. Your clothes are getting dirty,"

"Not a problem for me," Eames replied, giving him a nod as he left. Eames turned back to the weak fire burning in his trash can. Eames tossed the tapes in one at a time. His words gave him solace: Arthur truly loved him and it was his own conviction to start anew that made him relinquish that love. Somewhere, that abandoned part of Neil floating around in Arthur still burned with passion for Tommy Conlon.

And thanks to him, Neil found his gift in the point man business. Eames laughed, tossing the last tape into the fire.

Eames nudged the garbage can closer to the window; the smoke had gotten thicker from the tapes. Even though he'd do anything in the world to have Arthur for himself, Eames  swore to protect Arthur from Neil, to free Arthur from the past he hated so much. It was Neil's final wish and he'd promise to guard it forever.

As he watched the smoke billow out the window, Eames reached a hand and traced the butterfly tattoo upon his neck. His fingers came away sooty but Eames didn't mind. He shut his eyes; A part of Neil would always be engraved into his body. Likewise, a part of Tommy would always be engraved in Arthur _Riordan_ 's name.

 

 

Eames was personally invited into his next job by the head extractor. While Eames read the briefing on the plane, he recognized the head extractor as 'Dominic Cobb', that man who extracted secrets from university professors. Apparently, he had gotten real big in 'symbolic extraction' using safes and banks so the mark will project guarded secrets into him. What do you know? It really would work out. Adrian would be furiously embarrassed.

_Speak of the devil_ , Adrian was the second extractor on the job which meant Arthur wouldn't be far behind. Arthur Riordan, best point man in the industry. Eames laughed at the pretentious title Arthur had received. What caught his attention even more so was the notice pinned to his profile, his signature scribbled on with blue pen. It was Eames's recommendation signed personally from Arthur.

The final profile was the architect. Mallorie Cobb, Eames recognized her photo immediately. The new last name threw him off, making him laugh hoarsely. If the two hadn't dabbled in dreams, they would have never met. And now they were married too.

The absurd thought of marrying Arthur flashed in his mind but he quickly hushed it.

The next workplace was a spacious apartment in London. Unlike the warehouse in Chicago, this apartment was far roomier with fully furnished offices and fancy reclining chairs in the main room beside a multifunctional desk.

"Bloody hell," Eames said, entering the apartment. There was even a plant in the corner. A freaking plant.

"You must be Eames," Dom said, sitting up from the reclining chair, holding his hand out, "I am Dominic Cobb, the head extractor for this team,"

"Pleasure to meet you," Eames replied, shaking his hand coolly, "Been a long while, hasn't it," Eames said, examining the beard Dom had grown and his professionally slicked back hair.

"Sure has. Mal thought you'd never make it big. I rooted for you though," Cobb said, chuckling, "Anyway, Arthur told us a lot about you,"

Eames smirked, "Nothing but good news, I hope,"

"Oh the best, he said you were the best forger he's ever worked with," Cobb said, smiling, "Adrian said otherwise but heck, I trust Arthur far more than I trust Adrian. He was the one who recommended gelling my hair back."

"Most definitely," Eames said, the two men laughing together before heading to the chairs to wait, "Where are the others?"

Dom crossed his leg, peering over at the door, "Mal is resting at the moment in one of the side rooms. She's five months pregnant," Dom said, smiling cheekily, "This will be our second child," Eames gave him a tiny, playful applause, "Are you single, Eames?"

"Obviously," Eames replied, "Does a face like this look like it could stick to one man?"

Dom laughed again, smoothing back his hair, "I like you already Eames," Dom paused for a second, scanning over the profile, "Sorry, your given name is Thomas, right? My apologies, Arthur always calls you Eames."

"Eames is fine, I like Eames," Eames said.

"Speak of the devil and he will appear," Eames recognized that immediately to be Adrian. He turned his head, watching as Adrian entered with Arthur by his side, "We were just talking about you. I figured you'd be late again,"

"On the contrary, Adrian, I'm perfectly punctual when I need to be," Eames smirked to him.

"Now that the team's here, let's get started with briefing," Dom stood from his chair, walking into the side rooms, "Mal? They're here,"

The briefing was simple, by most standards. Their mark was a serial rapist-murderer who'd kidnap his targets, torture, and then kill them. From the police reports received, he'd lock them away in hideouts all along the countryside. During his arrest, the man swallowed a poison capsule. With resuscitation, the medics rendered him comatose. He had four hostages when he was arrested and no leads to where his secret hideout was. This was where extraction came in.

"So a simple extraction, we get in there and we find out where his hideout is," Dom said, writing the goal upon his whiteboard, "Because he is comatose, his subconscious will be accelerated so they'll be hypersensitive to any threats to the subconscious like an extraction. This is where two extractors come in," He turned to Adrian, pointing his marker briefly at him, "We have two simultaneous extractions."

"So which one will be the distraction?" Arthur asked.

"Adrian's, of course," Eames replied, swinging over on his swivel chair to face Arthur, "Memory projection extraction requires us to observe a set of projections reproducing a memory. Given the hypersensitive projections, our proximity in order to observe said projections will put us in far more danger than symbolic extraction,"

"Exactly, symbolic extractions doesn't require dealing with projections which reduces the risk," Dom finished. Eames turned to Adrian, shooting him a quick, smug smirk, "Mal will be sitting this one out since she's pregnant," He nodded to Mal who sat closest to him, "So I will be performing the symbolic extraction alone. Arthur, Eames, you two will be with Adrian to protect him when he performs the extraction,"

Adrian nodded, leaning forward in his chair, "Fair enough,"

Mal turned to Arthur, "Do you have the information ready for me to craft the dream?"

"Actually, that's something I'd like to bring up," Arthur said, picking up the thin folder provided to him, "The higher-ups only gave me a description of his crime and condition. I wasn't even given a name or a name to his victims,"

"Iffy," Eames added.

"I've tried to do research with that small bit of information. I found absolutely nothing. It's like his information is purposely being blotted out from us," Arthur explained, "Don't you think there's something strange about this case?" Eames and Adrian shrugged, simultaneously, then shot a glare at one another, "This isn't any particularly special case. There's no need for the best forger, the best architect, or the best extractor to be on this case."

"You forgot best point man," Eames, and Adrian, said at the exact same time. Only difference being Eames tacking 'darling' at the end of the statement. Once again, they shot glares at each other.

Mal took a cup of tea and sipped it slowly, "I've worked with extraction from a serial killer before. Generally, they want professionals to deal with these cases since the imagery can get jarring,"

"But this many top professionals for a single case? I'm sure there are plenty more available professionals for this,"

"Could be some really bad imagery," Adrian said, "Maybe that's why they gave us sparse information. If they gave us more, it could've turned us off." Adrian stood, stepping into Dom's place as the man took a seat, "In any case, it is still a job and we have to get on with it. Arthur, any information about the mark's location?"

Arthur flipped through the folder, "Kansas, in a small town," He looked up, "I used to live in Kansas. I can provide details for Mal," His eyes caught with Eames's briefly before he pulled away, "I'll get started on that with Mal,"

"Good, Adrian and I will be briefing each other on our extraction patterns. Eames, you're on standby for now. We'll only be able to tell if forgery is necessary after we enter the dream," Dom placed his marker down, "Briefing over, everyone to work,"

While the others worked, Eames found himself meandering around trying to distract himself. He eventually found himself stretched out on the couch, eyes trickling over the miscellaneous objects on the tables. His eyes fell upon a tiny top, so out of place amongst the practical items. He reached for it, only to have Mal take it off the table before he could even brush his fingertips to it.

"Sorry, you can't touch this or else it'd ruin it's function," Mal said, a small smile on her face, "This is my totem,"

She looked ready to explain the function before Eames cut in, "A constant, to check if this world is reality," She honestly looked surprised which made Eames smile cheekily.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Arthur told me. He has one too. A red die," Eames said. Mal giggled a bit at the mention of his totem, "What is it?"

"Oh, just thinking about how we came up with totems together. Dom and I took forever thinking ours up. Arthur knew what he wanted right away. He spent days making his totem, trying to get the weight just right," Mal laughed, sitting down beside Eames, "We told him to change it to something simple, he refused. He was like a kid back then."

Eames smiled, thinking of _Neil_ sitting there crafting a die and failing over and over again, "And now he's a man," He said to himself, "Maybe I should come up with a totem. What are the rules to it?"

"Well, it has to have a 'function' that allows you to concretely check if you're in reality. For example, my top will spin forever in a dream but tumble in reality," She held the top up in her fingers, "You also must fix the weight so you can do a brief check for reality by feeling if the totem is of the correct weight."

"And no one must touch it, or else they could rig it to the right weight if they were the dreamer,"

"Exactly,"

"Mal?" Arthur called out, leaving his office with a folder in hand, "I've gotten some brief details about the setting. Would you like to go over them together?"

Mal patted Eames on the shoulder before leaving to debrief with Arthur. Even though Arthur spoke to Mal, Eames could notice his eyes always shifting over to him. Now, Eames had several hours to kill. He spotted mechanical tools in a storage room by the back hall. Forgery was always his speciality. It'd take him no time to craft a totem. Now he just needed a concept to forge. He dropped his hands into his pocket, withdrawing a red poker chip.

_Get the fuck out of here, you Harlot!_

Eames cringed, crushing the poker chip in his hands. He certainly would never forget this poker chip. It forever carried one of his most regretted moments in his life. He looked to the power tools, rubbing the chip between his fingers. He shut the door and began crafting his totem.

While in the middle of hollowing out his poker chip, a knock came from the door. He shut off his tools, turning to see Arthur entering the storage room, "We're grabbing lunch. What do you want to eat?"

Eames smirked, "Same thing I always eat,"

"Pulled pork sub, honey mustard, toasted," Arthur said.

A chortle came from Eames as he stood, placing the power tool aside and tossing his goggles to the table, "Arthur, this was a really bad idea," He reached backwards, closing the door behind Arthur.

"I don't understand what you mean,"

"You know exactly what I mean," He closed in on Arthur, backing him up onto the wall while he rested his weight upon his palm at the wall, "Why am I in here crafting a totem, Arthur? Why am I not out there busy with work?" Arthur said nothing, watching him intently, "Dom was right. My skill set is irrelevant in this situation. So why did you recommend me?"

Arthur paused, Eames picked it up immediately, "Should the occasion arise,"

"But it won't," Eames replied, "You recommended me because you wanted to see me again," He felt Arthur's breathing slow down. He felt his body heat rising. His body weakened, slumping against the wall. He could see the bliss in Arthur's expression. It took him everything not to pin Arthur to the wall and take him right there, "For the record, you're doing a very poor job at leaving your past behind."

"I'm trying," Arthur muttered, taking in a huge breath.

"What kept me going through that last mission we had," Eames said, backing away just a bit, "You said you loved Adrian. You said you had to throw Neil away and move on. But not once did you say you stopped loving me," He backed away from Arthur, turning back to the work desk, "That's why I can't be with you. You were doing so well in breaking away from Neil. I'm not going to ruin it for you,"

Arthur reached forward, brushing Eames's shoulder gently with his hand. Eames smiled but didn't look back, "Thank you," Arthur left the storage room. Eames returned to hollowing his poker chip, forging a new memory into the chip's existence.

By the afternoon, Eames had loaded the chip with metal so it was several times heavier than any normal chip. He sealed the chip with a soldering iron. When it cooled, he practiced flipping it through his fingers, rubbing it with his thumb. Like Mal's top, the totem's function was trivial in reality but in his dreams, he'd imagine multiple chips birthing from the one rolling in his fingers.

He left the storage room, noticing that Dom and Mal had already left. Adrian was half out the door, nodding to Eames before heading out with his briefcase. Eames let out a decidedly unmanly yelp when he felt something prod at his left side just below his ribs. He turned, watching as Arthur walked past him coolly, briefcase in hand.

"Oh you little minx," Eames grumbled under his breath as he reached out, pressing his fingers deep into Arthur's sides, brutally tickling him. Arthur yelped and struggled hard when he couldn't break free, "Thought you'd get away with that, hm?" Eames said with a smirk.

Arthur fought the urge to laugh, words coming out in half-laugh, half-yelps, "Eames! Stop!" He shoved Eames's hands, losing his grip on them as they skittered up and down his sides prodding at his ticklish spots. He dropped the briefcase, dragging Eames along with him as he tried to pull away and escape. In a hysterical desperation, Arthur reached forward and pinched at Eames's sides. In surprise, Eames flinched forward inadvertently pushing Arthur and himself over the edge of a couch. The two released each other, toppling over the couch and rolling till Arthur ended up on top.

Eames examined their position before turning his attention to Arthur breathless, flushed red, with clothes rumpled and loose, "To what do I owe this pleasure?" He said, drinking in this beautiful sight before him.

Arthur huffed, still smiling straight into Eames's pleasant grin, "Eames, you're such a troublemaker,"

"And you love me for it," Eames replied, patting at Arthur's chest, "Come on. Adrian's waiting for you,"

Arthur nodded, getting up slowly and fixing his clothes. Eames followed after, picking up Arthur's briefcase and handing it to him. The two shared a quick smile before Arthur left. Eames returned to the storage room, picking up his totem from the work desk and rubbing it between his fingers. _Not a dream_.

 

The mission began the next day. Mal was a fast architect, constructing mazes in seconds. The criminal was brought in. His hair was greying and balding at the very top. He had a scraggly mustache and large cheekbones. Eames and Adrian both noticed Arthur looking at the man, examining him a bit too often to be normal.

"Is something wrong?" Adrian, and Eames, said at the same time.

"Stop that already," Eames said quickly, folding his arms.

"It's nothing, I thought I recognized him from somewhere," Arthur said, shaking his head, "Is he hooked into the PASIV?" Arthur took an IV, plugging himself in and reclining in his chair. Dom, Eames, and Adrian followed suit.

Mal stood by the PASIV, preparing the machine, "Alright, good luck guys," She activated the PASIV.

Dom was the dreamer, perfectly replicating a dingy little town based on Arthur's own descriptions. As planned, Dom was elsewhere from the team, probably looking for a bank or safe. Adrian, Eames, and Arthur found themselves in a wretched looking park.

"It looked this rustic in Kansas?" Adrian asked, walking out of the park.

"Mostly, I didn't like it very much," Arthur replied. Eames kept his eyes scanning the environment, "Eames, is something wrong?" The three exited the park, heading into the neighbourhood.

The park had been filled with children playing. Eames disregarded that as a normality. However, when they were in the neighbourhood, all there was were children peeking out windows, playing in driveways, sitting by the porches.

"What the hell is going? The projections are all children,"

"I figured so," Adrian replied, turning to Eames, "Why they kept information hidden from us. This man was a serial killer and rapist to children. The higher ups must've been afraid that we'd turn down the job if they told us the truth,"

Arthur shook his head, "Come on, let's just get the job over with then. Dom needs a distract-" Arthur froze, his eyes falling upon a bungalow that was illuminated by a blue glow by a porch light despite it being daytime.

Adrian caught on immediately. That house was far more detailed than the other houses Dom had conjured, "This must be the mark's projection. Come on," Adrian headed to the bungalow, twisting the door knob slowly and walking in. Eames followed but hesitated when he saw a look of almost fear in Arthur's eyes.

To their absolute disgust, the entire house was decorated like a child's paradise. Video games sat by the television. The kitchen was packed with junk food. Adrian covered his mouth, threatening to throw up at the implications this house held.

"What's your name?"

It was a man's voice, the only adult voice they heard from a projection. Eames and Adrian kept their distance as they peered into the living room, watching the man, obviously a younger version of their mark, speaking to a little dark haired boy. The boy looked hesitant, taking the microphone in his hands and holding it to his lips.

"How disgusting," Eames hissed quietly.

The boy spoke, "Neil,"

Eames froze. There was no way. This couldn't have been the same Neil. His eyes fell upon the little league photo on the table, then to Arthur quivering in fear. His gaze fell back onto the adult, grooming the boy with disturbing excitement. This was the man who ruined Neil, raped him, stole away all his innocence. A small whimper from Arthur as the man pressed his finger into the boy's mouth was all it took to push Eames over. Rage burst from Eames's body. The burst was so sudden, so sporadic, it felt like some raging animal burst free inside his mind and rampaged his subconscious, tearing everything into fiery little bits.

Eames grabbed Adrian, tossing him back into Arthur before pulling out a gun, emptying the entire clip into the projections. The room was splattered with blood, marking all the tokens the man must've used to lure children into his trap. Adrian would've have berated Eames had he not caught sight of Arthur, cowering and crying.

"Arthur?" Adrian said, reached for him.

"No!" Arthur shouted, his voice tight and hysteric. He turned back to the front door, pushing it open only to end up in a bedroom, "No, no, no," He whimpered, struggling wildly when Adrian followed him in and grabbed his arm.

"Arthur, what's the matter?" He froze at the sight of the bed.

It was the serial killer again, slightly older, lying in the bed naked smoking a cigarette. A boy lay beside him, an older boy, at least in his preteens. The boy was naked, laying beneath the sheet smiling up at the older man. The smell of sweat and musk revealing exactly what had happened. The boy beside the man unmistakably was Arthur, at a younger age.

"Neil, my angel," The man said.

"My sex god," The boy replied.

Another man fell on the bed, bleeding from another memory, "Fuck me," The man looked over his shoulder, away from Arthur towards the projection of Neil heading towards the man with a lusty expression, "Fuck me with your hot teenage cock," Arthur nearly screamed as Neil took the man's hips, enjoying every part of it.

Bullets rang out again, shooting up the room. Adrian grabbed Arthur, hugging him close to the floor as Eames rid the projections from their presence. Eames, through his blind rage, noticed that shooting the man did not make the younger Neil disappear. These weren't the mark's projections. These were Arthur's. He swallowed his rage, looking to the sniveling Arthur, "Arthur, you have to get your projections under control,"

"I'm trying," He whimpered in Adrian's grip, "I..." His voice cut short at the sight of another man by the door, fat, burly, naked, spinning a knife in his hands. Arthur shrieked, shuffling away from Adrian. Even as Adrian reached to protect him, Arthur fought till he could stand and run out the door in the bedroom.

Ending up in a bathroom.

"Slut's going to take it whether it wants to or not!" The projection closed in on him, reaching to strike Arthur over the head. The projection fell before he could strike Arthur. As the body fell, Arthur could see both Eames and Adrian both with their guns pointed at the man shooting simultaneously.

Arthur still shivered in fear. He broke out into a cold sweat. He was crying all out, eyes puffy and nose dripping from his hysteric weeping. He backed away from the dead projection, stopping when his legs hit the tub. He turned, his intention to check where the tub was relative to himself. His eyes caught his reflection.

There was Neil, in his blood soaked shirt, pupils blown wide open from crack, head bleeding severely. He looked back to the doorway, watched as Adrian looked on in absolute mortification. Arthur buried his hands into his face and cried without restraint. Eames lifted his gun, a mercy kill, and placed a bullet into Arthur's head. The projections around him disappeared immediately.

"Thomas!" Adrian shouted, pulling Eames back.

Eames placed the gun to his own temple, "Finish the job without me or Arthur, alright?" He said quickly before shooting himself in the head.

The first thing Eames heard when he woke was Arthur crying hysterically on his reclining chair. Mal was by his side, hushing him, wiping his eyes. Eames tore the IV from his arm, rushed to Arthur's side, and embraced him as tightly as he could. He grabbed Arthur's head, tucking it firmly against his shoulder as he stroked his back slowly.

"Neil, darling, it's okay. I'm here. You're safe now,"

Arthur took a deep breath, his back shuddered violently with sobs, "Tommy," He whimpered, gripping his shirt tightly, "Tommy, Tommy," He continued to cry out as he sobbed harder.

Eames shut his eyes, "I'll always protect you, Neil," He murmured into his hair.

Adrian and Dom woke up soon after. Dom was successful with his job but was thrown into disarray at the sight of Arthur breaking down in Eames's arms. Mal pulled him aside, informing him of what had happened. Adrian merely watched on as Eames continued to embrace Arthur with all his strength, soothingly whispering to him while Arthur continued to sob 'Tommy' into his shoulder.

It took Arthur two hours to calm down, or tire himself out from crying. Eames handed him over to Adrian. The extractor took Arthur into his arms, holding him close and intimately as Arthur stewed in his own silence. Eames turned to the comatose man, "Dom, Mal, you got the information, correct?"

"Sent it to the higher ups two hours ago. They say it's consistent with some evidence they got," Mal replied, taking over Arthur's job for reports. Dom watched over her shoulder as a second message came in, "It was a success. They found all the hostages," She said with a bright smile.

Eames nodded, "Good," He took the gun from his belt and emptied a clip into the comatose man. Dom covered Mal instinctively, pulling her away. Adrian kept his arms tight around Arthur even as he screamed at Eames. Eames heard nothing, saw nothing, _felt nothing_ except pure, burning hatred. That burst of rage from the dream, it hadn't run out. It wasn't going to run out for a while.

In any other case, Eames would've been arrested right away. His position as the best forger in the business and the moral reputation they had just received for extracting from a paedophilic-serial killer had saved him. Government officials came in and cleaned up the mess, already planning on how they'd cover the man's death. Arthur had fallen asleep, emotionally exhausted. Adrian tucked him in, stroking his head gently before he left the room. Eames stood across from the door, leaning on the wall with his eyes turned down.

"Is he sleeping alright?" Eames asked.

"Yeah," Adrian replied, "Look, Thomas, I don't blame you. Really," He said, putting a hand onto Eames's shoulder, "I would have done the same. I just didn't have a gun on me,"

"I try to keep it under control, you know. This time, it just slipped,"

"For a good reason," Adrian said, "I mean, murder is never a desirable but this man, he deserved it for what he did to...to Arthur, to all his victims," Adrian leaned on the wall beside Eames, "Did you know all about that?" Eames nodded, still staring at the wall, "I see."

"We knew each other, long ago, back before either of us even touched dream-professions. His past, my past, those were secrets we shared. No one else was to know about them," Eames said, "I loved him so much, even with his past, his shame. I love him, all of him," He looked to Adrian, seriousness on his face, "What about you? Do you still love him after seeing all that?"

Adrian was quiet, he merely stared at the door in front of him.

"Do you love 'Neil'?"

"Yes,"

The two were quiet, staring at the door in front of them. Firm eyes fell upon Eames as Adrian spoke, "I still love him. I'll always love him, all of him," He took off his crimson jacket, resting it over his elbows, "I just wish he told me, instead of burying it all away. I would've accepted it, accepted him,"

"Arthur was trying to run away from Neil. That's what he told me. He hates Neil, hates his past,"

"You can't run from your past forever,"

"That's what I told him," Eames said, leaving the wall, "Take good care of him. He needs someone like you in his life," He walked down the hall, leaving Adrian by himself.

Adrian moved from the wall, "Thomas!" He shouted, "Aren't you going to wait for Arthur to wake up?"

"No, Arthur wants to leave Neil behind. He can't do that with me there," _Because Tommy was Neil's everything and as long as Tommy remains, Neil will never truly be gone_. The truth so beautiful to Eames could only give him pain, "Tell Arthur I said goodbye."

Eames disappeared from Arthur's life, to protect him from himself.


	4. fade to BlAckNEss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This gets very dark, very quickly. Around the time I typed up this chapter, I started reading some pretty dark Bane fics and so my tastes began to shift. All those warnings about rape and psychological torture come into full effect here. The Bane depicted here is inspired much by Akelios's Bane from her Arts Universe fics.

Something reawakened inside of Eames that day. He tried his best to ignore it, keeping up his poker face when he was at a job. However, when he slept or when he dreamed, this inklingnever left him alone. It started as a feeling in the pit of his body. Occasionally, it was a mere twitch in his gut like a hunger pang. More often, it felt like hot lead had settled in his stomach and threatened to melt through Eames's bowels.

When he was the dreamer, the world began changing beyond his control. Some daytime landscapes inexplicably became night. The lights were dimmer, the fires were stronger. During intense missions in the dreamscape, Eames swore he heard something mechanical breathing behind him. He could hear footsteps, too heavy to be anyone he knew, following him closely but all he could see when he turned around was pitch black.

During a test run, Eames woke from his dreams and turned to his architect who sat upon her lawn chair clutching at her neck and gasping for air, "What happened?" He said, holding her shoulders gently as he spoke.

"This projection snapped my neck," She coughed, rubbing at her throat.

"What did it look like?"

"I couldn't see. It was too dark,"

Eames hoped this was a one-time occurrence. Unfortunately it happened again and again, until one day, Eames entered a room filled with the mark's projections all with their necks snapped, faces twisted in fear. He threw up immediately.

Another trend that began were safes, vaults, and other secure containers with their doors torn right off. The first time it happened, the extractor was completely in awe. There were clearly grip marks indented into the metal, signifying that someone _human_ had torn the door right off. The information was shredded apart, tossed into the air like confetti.

The metal boxes that popped up everywhere in his dreams tipped him off right away of what was happening. Left in miscellaneous places all over the dream was the metal trick box Eames had sealed away the animalistic rage of Tommy Conlon. Usually, when Eames opened it, the trick box was empty. Sometimes it was filled with shredded paper stolen from the safes. Once, a large mirror shard was in it reflecting Eames's shocked face. If anyone else tried to open it, the case would explode and kill them instantly. These trick cases tended to appear more often when Eames was a dreamer. From the moment he noticed that, Eames avoided being the dreamer for any mission.

In the rare situation where Eames was forced to be the dreamer, he'd find the entire layout of the dream changed. Any attempt to make sense of the layout hadn't worked at all. This was a truly unsolvable maze that was concocted. During one run through an impossible maze, the extractor had actually found the vault they had been looking for. He came forward, opening the safe with the mark's birthday numbers. Eames stood by the door, gun in his hand. Just as he opened the safe, absolute darkness enveloped both of them. When the darkness lifted, the extractor lay on the ground writhing in pain from his broken back. The safe was torn open as usual with all the information shredded. Whatever this being was, it moved far faster than all of them combined.

Luckily for Eames, this entity inside him attacked sporadically enough to avoid him getting caught be higher ups again.

It was only in one of his later missions did Eames figure out the truth. He was not the dreamer, so the layout was entirely safe. The architect was killed early. She was found with her neck snapped by a balcony. The extractor was killed next, his body was hung from the top of a flag pole so they could see it. The point man kept calm and continued his mission with Eames in tow. Eames recognized the point man from a previous mission which had similar occurrences.

When two exited the school they had been searching and stepped into the brightly lit daytime, the point man drew a gun and pointed it at Eames, "I know you're doing this, you son of a bitch. And only in the dark, I've learned,"

Strong, bulky arms came out from behind the point man, gripping his head and snapping his neck before he could shoot. The point man's body fell, revealing the giant behind him. Eames stared in disbelief at the hulking man standing before him dressed in a military-grade armored vest and worn-looking army pants. His most startling feature was the mask upon his head. Thick black straps held the mask in place, revealing only his eyes. The mask itself was metal, ugly, and looked like two hands were tearing the front of it apart. The hulking beast came from nowhere, rising out of thin air to snap the point man's neck.

"Mr. Eames," The beast of a man said, approaching Eames casually while resting his thumbs under the sides of his vest near the collar, the mocking replication of a cultured man with his fingers in the lapels of his coat, "So we finally meet,"

Eames couldn't tear his eyes away. He looked straight into the man's face. That metal trick box twisted into a fearful mask. Those eyes, _his eyes_ , looking back at him, "Who are you?"

"Forgotten about me already, have you?" The hulking man reached forward, resting one hand on Eames's shoulder territorially, "I was a blight in your life which you chose to seal away in the dark, left to fester and rot till the day I was free. I am the blackness in your heart you so shamefully try to hide. I am your _bane of existence_ ," 

The instant Eames awoke, he rushed out of the warehouse, abandoning his team despite the point man's cries of condemnation. It wouldn't be long till the point man sent a report on his behaviour to the higher ups, suspending him immediately from work. As soon as he could, Eames took a few days off to investigate. He took a plane back to Mombasa, looking for a private chemist and an available PASIV machine. Luckily for him, he still had Elizabeth's notes with him.

The entrance to Yusuf's clinic was hidden well between fruit vendors and drying laundry. Eames initially believed he had the wrong address till the oh-so-familiar smell of somnacin and other chemicals caught his nose. He pushed open the wooden door, a cat rushed out from between his legs.

"Hey!" Eames shouted to the cat, nearly tripping over it.

"Welcome," Yusuf said, sitting at his counter, "You must be Eames, right?"

"That's right," Eames took a seat on the counter by the side.

"Another set of sedatives then? I improved the compound you used long before, the one that lets you maintain several levels of dreaming all on your own," Yusuf said, dropping a vial of golden fluid onto the table, "Fresh off the lab,"

Eames headed towards the counter, lowering his voice to avoid anyone from listening, "Actually, I need something a bit more...scandalous,"

"Ah, heading into illegal dream work I see. I've got plenty of sources for you-"

"No, I need a PASIV device,"

"Oh." Yusuf paused, blinking several times, "Well, shit,"

Eames laughed, backing up from the counter, "I won't tell a soul. As long as you can hook me up with a PASIV,"

Yusuf chuckled, standing up from the counter and withdrawing keys from his pocket, "Blackmail will get you anywhere,"

Eames followed him into the backroom. His eyes caught a few stray tubes on the floor of the room hidden behind a thick curtain, "What's in there?" The smell of somnacin was pungent and overwhelming even through the thick curtain.

"Something you'd probably not want to see," Yusuf said, "Blackmail me all you want, I'm keeping you away for your own good," He unlocked a wooden cupboard under the desk. To Eames's surprise, the flimsy wooden cupboard was lined with thick sheets of metal on the inside, turning it into a disguised safe.

"Clever," Eames said, "They'd never suspect anything of importance hidden there,"

"And if they did, they're not getting in," Yusuf replied, handing him a PASIV device locked in a leather briefcase, "One of our older models but still good to go,"

"Much obliged," Eames said, taking the case and weighing it in his hands, "Pleasure doing business with you then, Yusuf,"

"The pleasure's all yours, Eames," Yusuf said, eyes narrowing but still smiling as he led Eames out.

With PASIV on hand and a few days to work, Eames lay back in his bed and inserted the IV. He planned a simple layout, a mere hotel room in broad daylight with an open sunroof. When he reawakened in the dream world, he was unpleasantly surprised by the pitch black sewer he found himself in.

"Goddamn," Eames said, looking around. Not a single factor he had previously planned existed in this dream. He should've expected this, just as it always happened when he was the dreamer.

"Indeed," The voice was dark, echoing with an exaggerated English accent as it spoke, "God has indeed _damned_ you," The hulking man, Bane, stepped through the darkness this time shirtless showing off the massive bulk of muscles upon his body.

No matter how hard Eames focused, he could not erase this projection. In dreams where he was in absolute control, this being rejected his power. He wondered if Bane could tell how hard he was trying to banish the projection from existence. When Bane began to laugh, Eames knew the creature had figured it out.

"You think of me as some _projection_ , don't you?" Bane laughed, approaching him, "Don't be silly, Mr. Eames. You know exactly what I am," He stood a mere inch away from Eames, looking down at the man with the same eyes, "I am you. The original you,"

"You're not real. You're just my anger, my temper, locked away,"

"Do not be mistaken," Bane said as Eames stared at him in disbelief, "You'd be surprised what an infinity spent in the absolute darkest corner of the subconscious will do to you. What it did to Tommy," He stepped around Eames, circling him, "You trapped me away, Mr. Eames, so this forgery could live on. And now that I've returned, I wish to claim back what is mine," He reached forward, grasping Eames's neck and slamming him into the sewer walls, " _Give me back my life_ ,"

Eames struggled in the air, legs dangling from the wall as Bane crushed him to the wall by his throat. He quickly lifted a fist, slamming it right into Bane's mask, popping one of the pipes off. Bane snarled in pain, dropping Eames as he backed away and fixed his mask. The smell was clearly chemical, almost medicinal.

Eames shouted back, "Tommy grew up, Tommy changed. He became me. You're nothing but raw emotion I locked away," He drew the gun at his belt, ready to shoot Bane in the head and end all this.

Eames wasn't sure when he was disarmed. All he knew was that his hands were empty and he was on the floor with blood dripping from his nose. A foot came down on his back, pinning him to the sewer floor threatening to snap his back, "What..."

"Surprised? Mr. Eames," Bane said, taking apart the gun and letting the pieces drop to the floor next to Eames's head, "I said I spent an eternity here in the subconscious. I know facets of the subconscious you will never even dream of in a single lifetime," He lifted his boot from his back, grabbing Eames and tossing him over against the railing beside a rushing stream of water, "This is merely the beginning. I will ruin you. And when Eames's existence is in flames, I will break you," He grabbed Eames's throat again, shaking him slightly as he spoke to emphasize his words, "Your body and your soul,"

Eames coughed, scratching into Bane's hands as they strangled him. Just before he was about to pass out, Bane released him and backed off. Eames watched him cautiously, fearful of what this rabid existence in his mind could do.

"Unless, of course, you'd like to bargain,"

"With a monster like you? Never," Eames hissed, "I'll erase you. I'll find away,"

"Trapping me in the dark only made it worse. At least back then, your temper wasn't vengeful," Bane said, eyes narrowing in almost a smile. He was trying to tell a joke; it made Eames feel sick, "I'm afraid you have no choice. Unless you want me to sabotage all your missions. Oh, and that was just the beginning. Next time, I'll make your team beg for death. I'll make your team cry and wail at my feet before I snap their necks one by one. _And I'll make sure you watch all of it_."

Eames shook in fear and indignation. His whole body was tense as he spoke, "Name your terms,"

"Simple enough, you are a forger, are you not?" Bane folded his arms behind his back, "Then for every night, forge me someone to play with," The way he said that statement made Eames shudder in terror, "Someone real, an acquaintance or closer and if I can't recognize them, so if you forge a false person, I will sabotage your next mission,"

"So you want me to treat the people I know as scapegoats?" Eames said in a deep hiss, "They are not your playthings,"

"Yes, they are not but you are, aren't you?"

Eames swallowed, backing away.

Bane let off a low chortle, "What shall it be? Their mental well-being or yours?" His hands were around Eames's neck in an instant, "I will give you till your next mission to decide. Think well and hard on it," He twisted his hands.

Eames woke in a cold sweat.

For those few days he had to himself, Eames spent his time trying to calm himself which, in that case, was gambling endlessly at whatever casino he could find. His mind was blocked. He could barely think with that omnipresent pressure of Bane sitting in the back of his head. He could barely think, no, he couldn't afford to think in case Bane could hear his thoughts.

Why was it that when you were trying not to think of someone, that ends up to be the only thing you can think of?

_Arthur_

Eames stood from the poker table and left the casino, cashing in his chips first. Never had he been so glad that he had chosen to distance himself from Arthur. The night air was dry and warm, far preferred to the rainy decade he had spent in London. If only he had resolved his issues earlier, if only he had reconciled with his father, his brother, if only he chose therapy as opposed to experimenting, if only, if only, all that control Eames thought he had was merely an illusion. He was right, when he spoke to Arthur, he can't run from his past. Eames certainly couldn't but he tried anyway and it failed in the absolute worse way it could. Forever, he was trapped in a game of roulette: Uncontrollable, random.

After throwing his fists at a brick wall for a few minutes, Eames returned to his apartment and withdrew the PASIV. He had one more night before he had to return and a job had already been lined up for him. Eames cursed himself for being a forger, for advertising himself as the world's greatest forger. The inflation to his ego was not worth the attention he so desperately needed to avoid at this moment. He plugged the IV into his arm, taking several deep breaths before finally gathering the gall to activate the machine.

He didn't bother with a floor plan. Bane had one made already. It was a pitch black forest. Eames found himself with his back to the metal fence. A flashlight was in his hands already, a courtesy from Bane. He contemplated staying with his back to the fence but he knew Bane didn't want that. Bane wanted to unnerve him, stalk him through the darkness. Eames swallowed another deep breath and walked deeper into the forest.

He had been walking for nearly thirty minutes without any sight of Bane. He passed several random landmarks: A truck, a bathroom, oil tankers. Everything made less and less sense to him. Why would Bane put him here?

A branch snapped behind him. Eames whipped around immediately, shooting his flashlight behind him. No one was there, obviously. As he continued down the path, he swore he heard deep mechanical breathing behind him. When he felt a hand press itself flat against his back, Eames ran as fast as he could. He stumbled over a tree root, collapsing against a large tree with twisted branches. He whipped the flashlight in circles, scanning everything around him. No one was there, he'd never miss a figure like Bane. He lifted himself off the tree, stepping around it to continue his path.

And ran straight into Bane's chest.

"Shit!" Eames screamed, backing away. He turned and ran, dropping the flashlight and too afraid to turn back to grab it.

In the pitch black darkness, Eames had no way of navigating. He kept his hands in front of him, using them as guides to avoid running into a tree. By the time he reached a clearing, his hands were scratched and bloody. Lungs burning from exhaustion, Eames collapsed against a solid tree, sliding to the ground slowly, and feeling a pair of boots at the very base. He didn't scream, Bane's left hand tightly secured his mouth while the other hooked underneath his armpit and dragged him up kicking and screaming.

"Had fun, Mr. Eames?" Bane asked with a chuckle, "Now, I hope you aren't here to try and negotiate. I've got plenty more to persuade you that resistance is futile in my world," He released Eames, shoving him into a tree. He turned on the flashlight, tossing it to the floor so both of them were illuminated.

Eames swallowed, staring straight into Bane. His fingers dug into the tree behind him futilely. Never had he ever felt so out of control and helpless, "Who do you want?" Eames asked, submitting to Bane's demand.

"You may decide whom you wish to make a scapegoat first,"

Eames shut his eyes tightly. It had to be someone he didn't particularly care for, someone who he had little emotional attachment if any at all. As a bonus, maybe someone he even disliked, someone who Eames wouldn't particularly mind turning into a scapegoat.

Bane let out a hearty laugh at the sight of Eames forging the slender man who had constantly treated him like a mere tool for the government. Bane applauded, a smile clear on his eyes, "Good choice. I would have done the same," Bane gripped one of Eames's arms tightly. The slender man's bony forearm fit perfectly in Bane's massive grip, "I'm going to enjoy this very much," Bane said before twisting violently, nearly snapping the forearm off right at the elbow. Eames screamed in pain before being silence by a powerful slap to the face.

It had gone on for hours. Bane was like an insatiable child, tearing and pulling at Eames till his limbs screamed and snapped. It took everything in Eames to keep up the forgery through the intense, growing pain. When Bane finally snapped his neck, Eames awoke, scratching at his no longer restricted neck. He fought back tears of absolute horror as he curled up on the side watching the PASIV as if it were a gate to hell waiting for him, watching him.

As Bane had promised, he left Eames's missions alone. As the dreamer, the layouts stayed his own and the metal trick boxes no longer spawned. No more neck-snapped projections appeared and his whole team was content with the progress. In the day, Eames was in control. In the night, in the _darkness_ , Bane took over.

For two weeks, Eames kept Bane at bay with neutral faces he had remembered: Nash, the sandwich maker working beside Neil; Tess Conlon, Brendan's beautiful wife now rendered a mess by Bane. Wendy, whom he never felt much kinship with despite her effort; Frank, his brother's trainer whom Bane felt nostalgic when seeing his face. Mad Dog, this one made Bane laugh, ugly and frightfully. Bane's 'playtime' remained relatively similar, snapping his bones, beating him till he bled, just pain. Eames had wrongfully assumed that this would be the same for all of his tributes to this demon in his mind.

That horrid day, when he ran out of neutral faces, Eames forged Paddy Conlon, his father. The feeling of his skull being beaten into shards by the fists flying into his face was chalked up as the worst pain Eames had felt in his entire life. Brendan was the second face he forged. Bane's torture was still unbearably painful but he had given Eames time to recover halfway through the beating. He had never done that for the other forgeries. When he had the desperation to forge Manny, Bane snapped his neck and ended it quickly.

It was inevitable. Eames had forged all the neutral faces he'd known and all the faces he knew he'd never see again. He even dug up some very old memories of his first boot camp comrades and some obscure memories of that one soldier he had saved from the sinking tank. All that was left were those he knew now: the dream-professionals.

The first one he forged was Henri, his surrogate father. When Bane was finished with him, Eames awoke and punched the dry wall of his apartment. He'd never forgive himself for throwing his true father to the wolves. Elizabeth and Elaine followed after, each making him feel equally guilty. During one incredibly violent night, the instant Eames awoke from the nightmare, he turned to the side of the bed and threw up.

He couldn't keep doing this. His coworkers had begun noticing the tiredness and jumpiness Eames treated everything around him. He was a loose cannon startled by everything that took him by surprise. Even the darkness was beginning to scare him. The extractor watched Eames with extreme confusion as he accidentally shut off the lights to the warehouse while Eames was inside and the forger screamed like he had been shot.

Eames grew introverted, fearing contact with new people whom he would inadvertently add to death row, ready to be executed in his mind's guillotine. When he was too tired to avoid more intimate acquaintances, Eames forged himself into Adrian, staring straight at Bane as they stood in a tiny jail cell with a single candle lighting the room. His father made Bane crush his skull slowly and brutally. He couldn't imagine what Adrian, the man who stole Neil from him, would be subjected to.

Bane said, "No false forgeries, I thought I told you,"

Eames froze. He looked to his reflection in the shallow water basin on the floor. He was Adrian, straight down to his fancy blonde hair and gaudy suit. He looked to Bane again, studying his face. Bane wasn't lying, his eyes said. He doesn't recognize Adrian at all.

"You don't remember him?"

"I am not here to play games," He said, approaching Eames, "Mr. Eames, I recognize every human you recognize. You are aware of what I said about false forgeries," Eames swallowed, he'd sabotage his next mission. He remembered it clearly, "But, I will let you off this one time," Bane said, gripping Eames's neck tightly, "You're losing your mind. Aren't you? It's only reasonable that you'd make mistakes," Bane laughed loudly, kicking him hard in the stomach before wrestling him to the ground.

Bane had gave him a gift. He gave him a list of those he could protect. Through his beating, Eames distracted himself with the fact that there were blanks in Bane's memory which meant there were things he didn't know, people he didn't know, _people Eames could protect_. It had to be the people he had met after Eames sealed Bane away and before he was released. He had several years worth of people he could protect.

During an intense moment of his torture, Eames shut his eyes and counted off everyone who he could protect. _Yusuf, Diane, Orlando, Dom...no, not Dom. Not Mal either. But most importantly..._ Arthur, he could protect Arthur from him. That single thought brought him solace and made him forget his pain for just a while. When he felt hands curled around his head, Eames felt peace. Snapping his neck which felt absolutely awful before now felt like a blessing. Eames awoke on the bed, usually screaming or sick, but this time, he felt at peace. Phantom pain still lingered in his limbs but the proven knowledge that Bane had blanks in his memory gave him enough peace to rest well.

During a slow preparation, Eames made himself a chart of knowledge he had of Bane. As he was born when Eames sealed away all the negativities that made him Tommy, this means his memory is completely blotted out from when he was sealed and when he was released. Bane hadn't recognized Adrian, which meant the final job he had with Adrian and Arthur must've been prior to his release. Similarly, Eames had been thinking plenty about Arthur and Bane had not questioned that once. Bane couldn't hear his thoughts or see what he was doing during Eames's waking hours even if he dwells in his subconscious.

Even so, with his newfound knowledge, he was still completely helpless.

That night, Eames found himself in an apartment complex still in construction. Eames figured Bane would chase him through it, baiting him with hope that he'd escape only to catch him at the last minute and beat him till he died. He forged himself into the Mal from ten years ago, calmly walking up the stairs till she reached the very top hallway. Perhaps if Eames was lucky, Bane would just hurl him off the building and wake him early.

Eames expected Bane to sneak up on him in the darkness, use his omnipotence in the dream world to catch Eames off guard, so Eames was in actual surprise when he saw Bane merely standing in the middle of the hallway leaning on the wall.

"Bane," Eames said, perfectly mimicking Mal's floral accent.

Bane looked to him, watching as Eames approached slowly, "Not afraid?"

"It's inevitable that I face you whether I'm afraid or not," Eames replied, "So why should I feel fear?"

Bane hummed in agreement, standing from the wall, "I have a proposition for you,"

"A proposition? Since when did you get random whims?"

"Since I realized that you are refusing to forge Neil for me,"

Eames swallowed, his forgery faltered for a second, flickering like a faulty projector, "I'm sure you understand exactly why I refuse to forge Neil for you," Eames folded his arms, crossing one leg in front of the other elegantly as Mal had, "Whatever deal you have, I refuse. I will never make Neil into your plaything,"

Bane's large hand came forward, grabbing Eames's chin firmly but not enough to hurt, "Trapped within layers of dark, heavy, suffocating subconscious, memories of Neil were the only source of joy I had. It was those memories of Neil that gave me hope. I would never harm Neil, not even a forgery of him," Bane released Eames, backing away with his hands folded behind his back, "My proposition, you shall only need to meet me once a week," Eames tried desperately to avoid perking up his head at the enticing new term, "I will not harm you physically but I will do as I desire to gain my pleasure," The way he spoke made Eames shiver. How odd that a man could switch between warm and inviting to cold and disturbing in seconds, "And in return, you must forge Neil and only Neil for me every time we meet,"

Eames could not pretend that Bane's deal had not been attractive. He hadn't been getting enough sleep thanks to Bane haunting his subconscious and keeping him awake with phantom pain and trauma. His performance was lacking and he had begun fearing dreams even when he knew Bane would not interrupt them. Could he reduce Neil to a plaything for the sake of his own sanity? No one would have to know, especially not Arthur.

It pained him to say it but he knew it was the only sane choice, "I accept," Eames said, slipping back into his own appearance.

Bane's eyes squinted upward, a genuine smile hidden behind his wretched mask. He reached a hand forward, brushing the stubble along Eames's chin, "Then do it," The stubble faded away, revealing the smooth skin of Neil. Bane didn't strike out at the forgery as he usually did when he caught up with Eames. Instead, he placed both his hands on Eames's shoulders, slowly stroking them as he moved his hands downward to caress his arms. When his hands fell upon his elbows, Bane shoved, pushing Eames through a door and directly onto Tommy's bed.

Eames whipped his head back and forth, studying the world around him. He was back in his old apartment, Tommy's old apartment. The bed he lay upon was cold, as if left alone for several hours in a poorly insulated apartment. What caught Eames's attention first was the bedstead, one drawer half open and dog tags hanging right at the edge. This wasn't just an imitation of Tommy's room.

This was the imitation of a memory.

Bane came upon Eames, flattening the forgery of Neil onto the bed, "Finally," He whispered through his mask, stroking Eames's cheek, "I can relive that moment in my life the way I truly desired it," Eames shuddered as Bane continued to stroke his cheek lovingly, "Calm down Mr. Eames, now is not the time for fear," He leaned in, pressed his cold, rigid mask into Eames's neck in a mock kiss.

Even as the hands continued to stroke his body intimately, Eames stayed calm taking deep breaths to slow his heartbeat. He tried to maintain his image of a blissful Neil with a doe-eyed expression but he could tell that the face he was making was akin to Neil raped and high from cocaine. When Bane's rough, calloused hands began sliding off his clothing, Eames screamed in his own voice.

"Mr. Eames, you're breaking our contract," Bane said, pulling away and grabbing Eames's chin.

"Right, right," Eames said, repeating it as his voice began sliding back into Neil's lazy drawl, "Right," He shut his eyes, breathing deeply and repeating a mantra in his head. _I can do this. I can do this_. He mumbled to himself. When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted by the image of Tommy Conlon smiling back at him, hands pushing Eames's shirt past his pectorals. Eames screamed again.

"I'll be gentle," Bane's forgery said in a sickly sweet voice uncharacteristic of Tommy. He leaned in, suckling on the soft flesh behind Eames's ear as he took Eames's left nipple into his hand and massaged it with his fingertips.

Eames moaned weakly, shivering as Bane continued to pleasure him gently as he would if he were actually Neil. Bane's other hand slid down, pulling off Eames's jeans. He stroked his hand down Eames's pubic hair, threading it through his fingers before finally grabbing his half-erect penis. Eames gasped out loud, bucking hard at the touch. The fingers toyed at the head, pinching the top in a way that Eames loved. He covered his face with his arms, too embarrassed as pleasure overwhelmed him.

"Neil," Tommy's voice murmured, reaching up to stroke the side of his face hidden by his arms, "I'll be careful. I promise," At those gentle words, Eames lowered his hands only briefly to look at Bane situated between his spread legs, gripping onto his hips gently as he used his other hand to prepare his own cock.

_Relive that moment in my life the way I truly desired it_. Eames groaned at the truth behind those words. This was exactly how he wanted to relive this memory. And now he was reliving it, except with a completely fucked up context.

His thought was cut short and the feeling of fingers prodding into him, stretching him. When Bane's erection pushed inside him, Eames thought he'd die from the shame alone. It wasn't the shame of being raped that killed him, rather, it was the shame of being forced to maintain Neil's persona.

That night when Eames had awakened, he screamed till his lungs nearly burst.

Eames thought his work would be easier now that he was no longer Bane's daily plaything. A single night of forcing to lay with Bane under the guise of Neil wrecked an entire month for him. The members of his team were beginning to worry whenever Eames would awaken from a dream simulation screaming and struggling against invisible bonds. At one point, he had actually screamed "Bane" out in absolute terror. Eames also found himself palming his totem more, checking to make sure Bane wouldn't suddenly pop out from the darkness.

As unbearable as his waking hours were, those weekly visits to Bane were far worse. The bastard began toying with him. Bane knew where all his hot spots were. He knew what he loved, what he hated, and he played with those hot spots till Eames was driven mad with ecstasy. Bane was always gentle when he thrust inside him, usually embracing Eames like a lover and kissing the sweet spot on his neck as he did so, disconcertingly marked by a butterfly tattoo he almost regret having. The only comfort Eames could take in was that Bane wasn't doing this for Eames's pleasure; he was doing this to see "Neil" in pleasure.

Eames ran out of somnacin frequently, no surprise as he had been using the PASIV device so frequently. Eames kept most of his jobs in Mombasa so he could stay close to Yusuf should he need his services. Yusuf supplied him generously and without question, even occasionally inviting him to lunch when Eames looked particularly exhausted. The chemist and the forger both found a kinship around gambling, poker to be specific. Even through his hellish experience, Eames found solace in his new friend who kept quiet about Eames's suspicious activities.

A year had passed with Bane haunting his subconscious. Eames didn't know how he survived it. Perhaps he hadn't survived it at all. Maybe he was already dead and Bane continued to torture him. Eames found himself with fewer jobs, being unable to leave Mombasa anymore. This gave him more time to cleanse his mind doing two things: Gambling and forging items. Hours he would spend mindlessly forging poker chips or driver's licenses or anything he had his eyes on. He needed to keep himself distracted or else his thoughts would return to Bane.

Eames also found himself hanging around Yusuf more, the two heading off to casinos during an off-night. However, as the weeks began to pass, Yusuf began prodding Eames with questions, asking about his deteriorating health. It pained Eames to avoid Yusuf, his only friend in Mombasa, but he had to if he wanted to keep Bane a secret.

Another night of Bane's lust passed, Eames awoke sobbing for the first time. Eames was always proud that he hadn't burst into tears due to Bane for an entire year. This night, however, overwhelmed him completely. In the beginning, Bane merely tried to replicate the single moment Neil and Tommy pleasured each other. As time went on, Bane began replicating other memories all inevitably ending with sex on some table or structure. Eames was somewhat disgusted, somewhat impressed with his past insatiability. Had he really wanted to have sex with Neil that badly?

This night was Christmas. This time, it was not a replication of a memory but a completely original construction. That night, long ago, Tommy invited Neil for Christmas dinner but Neil rejected, heading home for Kansas and leaving Tommy behind. That memory was still sore in Eames's heart; it must've felt like a flesh wound in Bane's.

The dinner was normal, eating cheap cuts of turkey and canned goods. Eames listened to Bane, still forging Tommy, talk about how he didn't have much money and how this was the best he could do. Eames played along, reacting like Neil: Flattered, cocky, but sincere. They split a bottle of wine, Bane told him he had splurged for the bottle but Eames knew better; he stole it from the trinket store owner and stored it away to save for Christmas. The day Neil left, Tommy broke out the bottle and drank till he nearly passed out.

The sex began spontaneously. Eames hadn't even finished his meal before Bane gripped his forearm and pulled him over for a rough kiss. He shuffled Eames forward, pressing him against the couch as he continued to kiss him passionately. Eames resigned his fate and shut his eyes, playing along the best he could.

The dream would have ended as usual, Eames would wake up startled but adapted. He'd then fight through his mania to achieve calmness for the remainder of the week. Instead, at the very peak of his orgasm, a tear fell upon Eames's face. He opened his eyes just a sliver and looked up at Bane, out of his forgery, who had wept a tear upon him.

"I love you Neil," He whispered as he pressed close to Eames's neck, "Don't leave me, please don't leave me," He came inside Eames, jerking Eames off as he did making the forger hit his orgasm hard. Bane merely stroked his hair gently, soothing him, "I need you with me. You're the only person I'll ever need in my life, Neil..." Bane pulled away, looking down at Eames as he continued to stroke his face soothingly.

Eames stared back into Bane's eyes, body basking in the afterglow. Eames could only see a reflection of himself as Bane continued his mantra. _Don't leave me for Adrian. Please don't leave me behind as you did with Neil. I need you with me. You're the only person I'll ever need in my life, Arthur..._

And then Eames woke up, crying just as Bane was.

His mind was completely elsewhere the day after. On his way to Yusuf, a car had almost struck him had it not been for the chemist charging out and tackling Eames out of the way. The chemist quickly helped Eames up, threw a tirade of obscenities to the driver, and walked Eames into his store.

"You look awful today, what happened?" Yusuf said, taking a seat by his desk.

Eames sat upon a stool, rubbing his eyes which were most likely still red from crying, "Had one awful night," He smirked to Yusuf, weaving up an amusing lie, "Ex-girlfriend came to see me. Had a bad time,"

"Eames, you certainly don't think I'd fall for that now," Yusuf replied, raising an eyebrow, "I've known you long enough to know that wouldn't be enough to knock you out. Look, I know it's not my place to ask but what have you been doing with that PASIV I lent you?" Yusuf folded his arms, staring down at Eames who sat with his head down, "You've been ordering enough somnacin to keep yourself under for at least once a week. Are you experimenting in your mind because that's a very dangerous move?"

"Dangerous?" Eames said. _Oh, you have no idea_. He couldn't tell Yusuf. The man couldn't fix his problem. He'd only tell him to stop dream working, stop giving him somnacin. Eames didn't want that. He already lost one of his true loves; he didn't want to lose another, "I've been practicing forgery. A special kind of forgery,"

Yusuf narrowed his eyes, "You're Thomas Eames. The best forger in the business, what exactly are you practicing?"

"Yusuf, just give me the somnacin I ordered,"

"I can't do that. This isn't safe for you," Yusuf said, standing up, "You look like a mess,"

"You're not my mother. You're just some chemist who sells me somnacin,"

"I'm also a chemist who has watched you deteriorate slowly since the day I first saw you,"

"Will you shut the hell up and give me my somnacin?" Eames growled, kicking off his chair and grabbing Yusuf's collar.

Yusuf panicked at first, struggling before calming down and looking at Eames's eyes. He said nothing, merely staring thoughtfully into Eames's eyes till the forger backed away. Eames leaned upon the side counter with on hand, his other hand stroking at his temples, "Yusuf, I'm sorry."

"What are you doing with the somnacin?" Yusuf asked again, quietly.

Eames shook his head slowly, "There's something in my head, something I put away long ago. I thought it would stay there forever but it came back worse than ever. There's nothing anyone can do about it," Eames looked to Yusuf pleadingly, "I need that somnacin to keep it down. _Please_ ,"

"Whatever it is. It's killing you. I hope you realise that," Despite his words, Yusuf relented reluctantly, "You have to find another way to deal with this,"

Yusuf's words stayed in his heart even when he went under for another night as Bane's pet. He sat upon Tommy's bed, out of forgery, waiting for Bane to enter the room.

"Tired, Mr. Eames?" Bane asked, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Eames.

"This is killing me," Eames said, "You realize that if I die, we'll both die, right?"

"I've never been alive. Why would I fear death?"

 "I wish to bargain,"

"Denied,"

Bane grabbed his wrist, forcing Eames onto the bed, "I lived on mere memories of Neil for an eternity. Being able to hold him, even if it is merely a forgery, is a godsend," He grabbed Eames's chin firmly, "Forge Neil, now,"

"Three hours,"

Bane cocked his head curiously.

"I'll give you three hours in consciousness. No more somnacin, no more forgery," Eames said slowly, "In exchange, three hours of reality. Every week," Eames could see Bane considering the offer. The twitch by his left eye was a dead giveaway that Bane was pondering hard, "Three hours, to look for Neil,"

"Deal," Bane said, "You will give me three hours of any day of the week. By the time a week passes after my previous three hours, if you have not given me my next three hours, I will take the last three hours of the day by force,"

Eames nodded, "Deal,"

Eames woke up that night, refreshed and calm. Elizabeth, as skilled a point man as she was, couldn't even dig up information about Neil that linked him to Arthur. There was no way Bane would find Arthur through Neil. Bane may have been a god in the dream world but he was no stronger than Eames was in reality. He smiled to himself, happy that he had found a way to rescue his sanity.

All that mattered now was to make sure Bane didn't get into trouble in his three hours. He called up Yusuf the morning after, "Yusuf, I need to ask a big favour of you,"

"Is this about that thing you were talking about last week?"

"...yeah. I've found another way. I don't know if it's more dangerous or not but at least I'll be able to keep my peace of mind,"

"Fair enough, so what do you need of me?"

"For three hours of the week, I'll prompt you a day ahead of time. I need you to keep an eye on me and report if I do anything odd or dangerous as soon as those three hours are up."

"...what the hell?"

"Just, trust me on this,"

Yusuf didn't question, just like had usually had when Eames was serious. Eames really treasured that about Yusuf. The man might not ask questions but he was bright enough to figure things out on his own. Eames had expected Bane to rampage in his body, destroy his reputation just for fun. Instead, Yusuf reported that 'Eames' merely spent his three hours a week doing leisurely activities: walking in the park, going to a bar, watching a movie. Bane was using his time to experience this brand new world. It made him feel human; it disturbed Eames to no end. The arrangement went well. Eames slowly regained his composure and Bane was contently out of his life while Yusuf kept his tabs on him.

For a short while, Eames truly thought he could live like this, until the day Arthur called.

Eames had just woken up after his weekly three hours for Bane. According to a text message from Yusuf, Bane had merely went to a diner for breakfast, boxed at a community gym for an hour, and spent the remainder of his time feeding pigeons before returning to the apartment. The ordinariness of his three hours were so jarringly contrasting to his sadism in dreams.

His thought was interrupted by his cell phone ringing, Eames picked it up and answered, "Hello?"

"Eames, It's Arthur,"

Eames froze, searching his mind for all the words to say and thanking every single god in the world that he had just given Bane his three hours prior to the phone call, "Arthur, to whom do I owe this pleasure?"

"I need your help. It's urgent,"

"What is it, love?"

"I would prefer we communicate face to face. I can't let this conversation be traced by anyone,"

"Is this just another excuse to see me? If it matters, I missed you a great deal as well," There was a knock at the door. _Oh hell no_. Eames opened the door, looking directly at Arthur who had his phone to his ear.

"Hello, Eames," Arthur said, flatly, putting his phone away, "This is an urgent matter so I'll skip right to the task. I need your expertise with forgery,"

If it were any other situation, Eames would have agreed immediately but with Bane wandering his mental landscape, he couldn't risk putting Arthur into his domain given what Bane had done to a mere forgery of him, "Sorry, I've got a lot of missions planned already. You'll have to find another forger,"

"Not dream forgery," Arthur said, "Actual forgery. I need false IDs, false passports, anything that can be used to start a new identity," He held up his fingers in a mock peace sign, "Two sets: One for me, one for Cobb,"

Eames's eyebrows perked up questioningly, "Dom Cobb? Arthur, what happened?"

Arthur looked away at first, swallowing before turning back to Eames with guilt in his otherwise apathetic face, "Mal, she killed herself. And they think Cobb killed her,"

"Isn't there forensics proof for this?"

"Mal had herself declared sane by three psychiatrists. She set everything up to look like a domestic violence case"

"Bloody hell, can't the higher ups protect him? For Christ's sake, I was protected from deserting the military,"

"No, not in this case. Extractors are no longer a rare commodity. There's no value in protecting Cobb even if he is one of the best," Arthur sighed heavily, "He can't go to jail, not like this. So, I need you to forge him a new identity so he can get away. Can you do that?"

Eames nodded quickly, "No problem. Forgeries are my specialty. But what are you going to do for money? A fake identity can only get you so far,"

Arthur looked around quickly, as if checking for spies in the corners of the room, "We're heading into dream thievery," Eames stared at him, wide eyed, "Dream working is the only thing we've been trained in all these years. It's the only way we'll be able to make enough money to stay on the run from authorities,"

"Dom can't do it alone,"

"I know. That's why I said I'm going with him,"

"But you didn't do anything wrong,"

"I can't let him go through this alone. He's one of the closest friends I have,"

Eames sighed, smoothing back his hair in an exasperated manner, "Very well, I'll get those forgeries done. Give me at least three days," He scribbled down a note on his desk, "I've also got a friend who deals with illegal dream professions. I'll ask him to give me some leads,"

"Thank you, you're a lifesaver,"

"Funny, I thought I was a troublemaker,"

Arthur chuckled softly. Eames turned to look at the smile on his face, so fragile and soft, "What of Orlando or Adrian? Are they going to be joining you?"

Arthur paused for too long before he spoke, "No, they're staying behind. They'd rather stay out of trouble with the government,"

Eames chuckled, "Typical. Adrian's going to be heartbroken, being away from you for so long," He chuckled to himself, turning to Arthur, "Like a dog missing his-," He stopped at the sight of Arthur completely dejected, "Arthur..."

"We broke up," Arthur said, "He said he wouldn't date a criminal."

"Arthur, I'm sorry,"

"-Which is completely understandable," Arthur tacked on, brushing off his sadness and returning to a stoic expression, "I'll be on the run, tracked by the government and anyone out there who wants the secrets to dream working. It'll be too much work to maintain a relationship, especially to someone who has direct ties to the government,"

Eames nodded quickly, "Right, it is for the best,"

"Good, I'll see you again in three days then," Arthur said, heading to the door, "Thank you again, Eames,"

"My pleasure," Eames replied, watching as Arthur left the room. His eyes remained lingering at the door. Despite the sadness of knowing what had transpired with Cobb and what Arthur was willing to do, a part of him was truly happy that he had broken up with Adrian.

He sat by his desk, working on his forgeries with the materials he had on hand. With every little detail he worked on, Eames couldn't help but think of what Arthur had gone through. He imagined his reaction when Cobb told him the truth of what happened; Eames could see the indecision in his eyes before finally resigning to trusting his good friend. He could see Arthur asking Orlando secretly to assist him only to be rejected. What gave Eames a mix of feelings was imagining how Arthur broke the news to Adrian. Did Adrian burn with rage for dating a would-be criminal? Did he beg for Arthur to stay? Did Arthur beg for him to follow?

_I guess it doesn't matter_. Regardless of how it happened, Eames knew one thing: Arthur was alone. He had Dom Cobb by his side, but that was it, and judging from what Cobb had gone through, he certainly wasn't going to be a shoulder for Arthur to lean on for a very long time.

Eames had worked into the night, pressing a hand to his hair trying to push back stray strands that had fallen through the dried gel. He placed two forged passports aside before shutting off the light, going to sleep early so he could start on the next articles of citizenship later. He leaned back in his chair, huffing deeply as he rubbed his eyes.

" _Arthur_ ," He whispered into the air. He tried so hard to keep him away for his sake but even so, Arthur was inevitably destined to be entwined with his life. Eames picked up one passport, Arthur's new passport, and flipped through it lazily. With this final request, Arthur would disappear from Eames's life again. With this thought, Eames turned the light back on, booted up his laptop, and scrapped together enough material for a third forgery.

For the entire day since Arthur re-entered his life, Eames had not once thought about Bane.

 

"You look tired," Arthur greeted as Eames let him into the apartment. Eames had finished the batch of forgeries late into the night of the third day. He looked absolutely disheveled and tired.

"Forgery is time-consuming work. I should charge money for this,"

"Of course you would," Arthur said in a matter-of-fact tone before withdrawing a cheque from his wallet, "Here, your payment for the forgeries,"

Eames stared at the cheque for a long while. He had meant to do this out of goodwill, nothing more. He batted Arthur's hand aside, "Keep it, I don't need payment for this,"

"No, I insist. Forgery is a service,"

"Forgery is a leisurely activity, in my case," Eames pushed the cheque back, "Forget it, Arthur, consider these a birthday gift. If that will make you feel better," He picked up the two sets, handing them to Arthur, "Here you are, one for yourself and Dom,"

Arthur took them, hesitantly, "Thank you again, Eames," His eyes fell upon the desk, noticing the third set situated at the edge of the table, "Whose is that? Are those master copies?"

Eames laughed loudly, picking up the passport, "Oh please, I'm a master at forgery. You really think I  
need master copies?" Arthur rolled his eyes at the condescension, "This is my set," He flipped to the identification in the passport, showing a picture of him with brand new information.

"What, why?" Arthur said, honestly surprised.

"I'm leaving the government too. I've always wanted to and now I have the perfect excuse," Eames said, tossing the passport back onto the table, "Now you have a forger on hand. And I have a chemist friend who's more than willing to help us out as well,"

Arthur shook his head, grabbing Eames's wrist firmly, "You can't do this. You don't have to. Forgers are still a commodity to them. If you leave, they'll definitely send their best men to track you down,"

Eames lifted his hand, grabbing Arthur's wrist gently and prying it softly off his wrist, "And I shall lead them on a merry chase," The smile never left his lips. It was almost reflexive when Eames leaned in while Arthur moved forward and the two pressed their lips together with equal strength, neither forcing the other to comply. When Eames pulled away, he still held Arthur's hand in his grip, "I'll be there for you, I promise,"

"Why did you leave then?" Arthur asked in a light voice, "Back at the job with Cobb, Adrian, and Mal,"

Eames shrugged lazily. The answer was obvious; Arthur knew, Eames knew, but Arthur wanted to deny it, "You were trying to let go of Neil. You'd never be able to do that as long as Tommy was there. I respected your promise and stayed away so you could honour it," He lifted Arthur's hand, kissing the back of it as he massaged his wrist softly, "But now, what's most important to me is that you are not alone in this," He smirked playfully, leaning into Arthur, "Why is it that I'm always saving your arse from everything? It'd be nice if you did that for a change,"  

"Shut up Eames," Arthur said with a chuckle before kissing him again.

The two spent the remainder of the night together. They had inevitably ended up on the bed, tangled in each other's arms and kissing each other passionately. By the time they had finished, both were absolutely breathless and undone by the other. The two lay side-by-side curled around each other, blanket cocooning both of them together.

"If I wasn't so tired, I'd definitely take you till the sun came up,"

"Maybe next time,"

The two paused, trying to sleep but unable to keep their eyes closed.

"Eames?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you wearing cologne?"

"Ah, yes. Some fancy French brand. I received it from a fellow extractor during Christmas. I was told it had the ability to seduce anyone who caught a whiff of it. Did it work?"

"No, I don't like it. Don't wear cologne."

"You prefer my natural scent of undiluted masculinity?"

"W-What? Idiot," Arthur broke out into a hysterical laugh and continued to chortle till he finally fell asleep in Eames's arms.

Eames shut his eyes, smiling through his rest with his true love nestled in his arms. He knew it'd be a difficult game to dodge the government after he deserts it but he also knew it'd be worth it for Arthur's sake. He brought his lips down to kiss Arthur's temple, smiling, blissful...

Before an image of Bane appeared in his mind.

Eames froze, staring down at Arthur, the object of Bane's obsession. His blissful sleep suddenly became awkward and terrifying.

The next morning, Arthur left early to regroup with Cobb in Paris. Eames said his goodbyes, kissed him on the back of his hand, and went to Yusuf immediately to arrange the dream thievery clients. His fear of Bane and love of Arthur battled constantly. In the end, the fear won out and Eames kept his distance from Arthur, helping him out from afar with new leads, recommended coworkers, and clients mostly through Yusuf.

A new chapter of his life began: Eames the forger, now a fugitive from the law forever loyal to his true love Arthur. The three hours given to Bane became trivial as his life became more and more hectic. On the contrary, Bane began to come in handy. Dream thievery had no standards. The job could be impossible and no one would be able to tell. Whenever Eames was caught in a bind, after the three hours of Bane's time, Eames would awaken with his bind completely undone. Bane was a master of the subconscious, no doubt, and he was certainly enjoying himself with the unconventionality of dream crime and disregard for the well-being of your partners. And of course, Bane effortlessly fighting off and killing hit men from disgruntled clients was a bonus.

During an off day, Eames spent the afternoon in Yusuf's lab, playing with his totem in the corner while Yusuf worked.

"How's Arthur been doing?" Eames asked.

Yusuf set aside the chemicals he was carefully measuring, "Okay. I guess. He said his last job was a bust. I thought you'd know that already,"

"I tend to avoid direct contact with Arthur. The government's all over me, I don't want to accidentally drag Arthur and Dom in too,"

Yusuf shot Eames a questioning look, "But, Arthur called you yesterday. You talked for almost three hours," He returned to his chemicals, mixing them with careful precision.

"No he didn't, I tend to avoid all of his calls," Eames couldn't recall any time he had spoken to Arthur directly. It was always through some liaison they spoke. Perhaps he was drunk, accidentally taking a call from Arthur and managing to keep up a conversation for three hours-

_Oh shit._

"Yusuf," Eames said suddenly, "I need to go under, right now,"

Yusuf immediately set up a PASIV device for him in the backroom. Bane's existence had become so commonplace, both men had forgotten all about the three hour arrangement they had. Eames's new work generally brought him overseas so having Yusuf babysit for three hours was no longer an option; he could only assume Bane would not get into trouble.

"Ready Yusuf?" Eames said, fixing the IV onto his arm.

"Got it, sweet dreams," He said activating the device.

The night air was stifling and cold on the roof of an old apartment complex in the middle of the city. Sounds of cars and life were all around him but Eames saw no people on the streets just cars with windows shrouded in darkness. He rubbed at his shoulders, approaching the edge to check if there was anyone by the building. No one. He was alone, as usual.

"Bane!" Eames shouted, circling the perimeter of the roof, "Come out. We need to talk,"

Heavy footsteps behind him alert Eames of Bane's presence. He turned, watching as Bane came up from the stairs leading to the roof with his hands hooked behind the lapels of his fur-lined coat.

"And here I thought our arrangement was becoming beneficial to either of us," Bane said, "I get my three hours of freedom,"

"And I get your superior assistance in dream crime, I get it,"

"Ah, don't forget the pursuers. Had it been you dealing with them, we'd have been captured long ago," Bane chuckled behind his mask, approaching Eames slowly, "So what is the problem?"

Eames bit down on his lip, building up the courage to speak with him, "You know exactly what the problem is,"

The squint in Bane's eyes was terrifying. Eames hated it when he smiles, "I believe he was called 'Arthur', correct? Who is he to you?"

Eames swallowed deeply. Bane hadn't figured out that Arthur was Neil or else he'd never be so calm. Eames expected earth-shattering hatred and rage for hiding Neil from him in reality, "He's a point man. A comrade of mine who's also in dream crime,"

"That's not what I heard," Bane said, "He said he missed you. He said you were avoiding him and refused to stay in contact despite his weekly attempts to call you,"

"He's a friend. I didn't want him to know about _you_."

"A friend? Mr. Eames, do you think me a fool?" Bane boomed, resting one hand on Eames's shoulder, "For almost half an hour, he spent the time apologizing for anything he might've done to make you angry. And then, when I assured him that he hadn't done something wrong, he spent the rest of the hour wondering if I was in danger. That, Mr. Eames, isn't just 'a friend'."

Eames took a deep breath before brushing off Bane's hand, "I love him. Is that what you want to hear? I quit working for the government so I could protect him. It's because of you that I have to keep my distance. Bastard,"

"Ah, I figured so," Bane replied, stepping back and pacing lazily, "He argues like a lover would, desperate and sorrowful,"

"What," Eames hissed under his breath, "What the hell did you say to him?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself? If he's still willing to talk to you, that is,"

Eames threw a punch at Bane, hitting him in the cheek as hard as he could. Bane barely flinched, "You bastard!"

"He was a strong man! I commend you for finding such," Bane said, completely ignorant of the punch Eames threw, "He denied my words till the very end. What broke him was when I told him I never loved him; I said he was a nice plaything, a nice _pet_. Since the beginning, I said that I only took pity on him since he looked like such a miserable little creature. I said he was nothing but a sweet, pitiful whore for me to play with," Bane laughed loudly, Eames cringed knowing that those words must've awakened a shameful memory of Neil's, "And then he stopped. He hung up,"

Eames was dumbstruck. He shook his head, backing away, leaning against the railing to catch his breath, "Why? Why would you do that?" He huffed out, "Arthur was none of your business!"

"Arthur is completely my business. After all, I am you,"

"You're not me!" Eames growled.

Bane reached forward, grabbing Eames's neck and shoving him almost over the railing, "Mr. Eames, if I cannot have the man I love, then you can't either!" With that, Bane shoved him forward, pushing him over the railing.

Eames woke from the dream, startling Yusuf who had been checking the timer on the machine, "What happened?" Their eyes locked momentarily before Eames closed his eyes in a squint and laughed humourlessly. Had it been another situation, Eames would have been laughing genuinely. How ironic, that Bane who loves Neil ended up breaking Arthur's heart. How ironic that Eames's effort to protect Neil's dignity ended up tearing apart Arthur's, "Eames, you're freaking me out,"

Eames covered his eyes and shuddered, screaming in anguish, ending his unnerving laughter. Yusuf unhooked him from the device, quickly grabbing a glass of water to help him calm down. After a moment of screaming, Eames settled down in the chair and took a quick sip of water.

"I didn't think you were still going through your 'episodes'," Yusuf said, "If I had known, I would have stopped you,"

"It isn't your fault. I should have expected something like this to occur," Eames sighed heavily, putting his glass aside, "Yusuf, do you have a phone?"

Eames didn't bother using his phone. Knowing Arthur, he would ignore him when he called. He dialed Arthur's number quickly. He used a rigged phone number which ran through Russia before reaching him to avoid traces. Eames was glad to know Arthur had some tech-savvy comrades on his side.

"Hello?" Arthur answered the phone.

"Arthur, it's me,"

Silence came. That wasn't a good sign.

"Arthur, about yesterday, I'm really sorry. I didn't mean any of it,"

"You sounded fairly sober."

"It was a bad week. I had been experimenting with new drugs. There were after effects,"

"Drugs don't put thoughts into your head. They make you more open to voice them."

"Arthur, darling, please let me explain,"

"Don't 'darling' me. I get it. You're sore about Adrian, Cobb, or anyone else you think I'm sleeping around with,"

"No, no, I'm not. Really,"

"That's fine by me. You can sleep with whoever you want. I won't penalize you for it,"

"Arthur, listen to me,"

"I'm done listening to you. I spent hours on the phone with you, trying to reconcile, and all you did was spurn me. I can't believe..."

"Arthur!"

"...that deep down..."

"Please, that's not-"

"...you still think of me as a whore,"

"-true, I love you,"

Arthur hung up before Eames could finish his sentence. He pushed the phone into Yusuf's hands, slumping in his chair with his head in his hands. Yusuf sat beside him, patting his back as Eames stewed in his own anguish.

 

_"Eames? He's in Mombasa, that's Cobol's backyard,"_

_"Necessary risk,"_

_"There's plenty of good thieves,"_

_"We don't just need a thief. We need a forger,"_

 

Eames was honestly caught off guard at the sight of Dominic Cobb tracking him down in Mombasa. In the months that passed, Arthur cut off all communication with Eames but despite this, Eames made sure Yusuf kept an eye on him to make sure he was safe. Eames had no idea Arthur also had an eye on him. He assumed Arthur would've wanted to sever all ties after Bane's little show.

"Inception, now before you bother telling me it's impossible-"

"No, it's perfectly possible. It's just bloody difficult," Eames said. He had firsthand knowledge about inception. Back then, he thought he had merely repressed Tommy. Only with more work in the versatile dream crime field did Eames learn of his own self-inception. He planted an idea deep inside himself. The only problem was that the idea took root and grew till it had a mind of its own.

"Arthur keeps telling me it can't be done,"

Eames snorted, a small, sad smile on his lips, " _Arthur_ ," He muttered. Cobb must've known of the rocky relationship between him and Arthur. Eames played along, not wanting to turn Cobb against Arthur, "You still working with that stick in the mud?"

Cobb shrugged, sipping his beer, "He's good at what he does,"

_The best point man in the industry_ , "Oh, he's the best." Eames chuckled at the ancient title awarded to him back in the day, "But he has no imagination. To perform inception, you need imagination," Combining symbolic extraction and memory repression with two levels of dreaming was certainly not an idea cooked up from the unimaginative.

"Let me ask you something, have you done it before?"

Yes and no, Eames wanted to reply. He performed self-inception with catastrophic results but overall, it was a successful job. On the other hand, he performed inception on an actual job and it had failed miserably. It was obvious which story he'd tell to Cobb and which he'd keep locked inside himself.

The conversation with Cobb ended with a visit to Yusuf. Cobb would meet the man who had been looking out for him all this time. For the first time, when introducing Cobb to his most powerful sedative, Yusuf revealed what he had been hiding all those years. He pulled the curtain back, revealing a room filled with people under heavy sedation, using the PASIV device to dream since it was the only way they could.

Cobb and Saito left first to rendezvous at a safe location. Eames stayed behind, watching Yusuf replace the curtain after leaving the room, "Startling imagery,"

"It's how I make a living," Yusuf replied, "Now you see why I never want to show people what's behind the curtain,"

"Fair enough," Eames chuckled, "I respect a man with the gall to stomach a sedation 'camp' like that. Anyway, let's grab lunch before we head up to Saito and Cobb,"

"You can still eat after seeing that?"

 

His reunion with Arthur was unpleasant at best. The point man had spent most of his time with their new architect Ariadne, a college student and a truly gifted architect. Watching the two share jokes and caress each other playfully made Eames seethe with anger towards Bane. If that bastard hadn't interrupted, he wouldn't have had to stay away from Arthur all this time.

Whenever Arthur turned his way, Eames would give a shy little wave. Arthur promptly ignored him and stuck close to Ariadne, inviting her to another dream simulation so she can practice. All of their interactions, during briefings or information exchange, were professional at best and snippy at worse. Anytime Eames tried to delve into conversation, either about his life outside work or even Ariadne, Arthur promptly shut down the conversation and continued his work.

"Does Eames and Arthur have some history?" Ariadne asked Cobb as he passed by.

"Oh, you have no idea," Cobb replied with a small smile, "They go way back. Way, way back. Arthur told me all about it,"

A warm chuckle from Eames caught their attention, "You want to know? It's quite an interesting story," He touched Ariadne's shoulder gently. The young architect might've been suspicious of Eames due to Arthur's influence but after knowing him for a few days, she was quite open to the forger.

Arthur appeared as if out of thin air and slapped his hand off Ariadne's shoulder. He took her hand and pulled her away quickly, leaving everyone dumbfounded on what had just happened. Cobb looked to Eames, both shrugging when searching the other for answers.

On the final night before the mission, Eames stayed behind searching for Arthur so he could finally speak to him without work getting in the way. He sat by the main desk, swinging his head side to side searching for Arthur.

"Eames, what are you still doing here? We're way past working hours." Yusuf asked, walking over to him with a clipboard in hand.

"I was waiting for Arthur,"

"He left early with Saito to gather information,"

"Ugh," Eames groaned, "I guess I'll be going then,"

"Eames, you should tell Arthur the truth," Eames shot Yusuf a quick glare. The chemist shrugged in reply, "What is the worst that could happen?"

"I don't know. He'll think I'm a freak? He'll get hurt? I don't want him to know my subconscious gets off from snapping people's necks, raping forgeries of Neil, and cold-blooded torture!"

"Neil, you mean Arthur?" Ariadne said. Both men turned to her, startled.

Eames growled in his mind, _he told her_. Neil was meant to be his secret alone. Arthur hadn't even told Adrian of Neil yet Ariadne knew. Envy bloomed inside him as well as unjustified rage towards the young architect, "You are certainly chummy with Arthur, aren't you?"

"He's my mentor and my friend,"

"Oh, just a friend, I'm sure. And what of Dom? I don't see you joking around with him. I'm sure he's been just as helpful to you as Arthur,"

"Cobb, helpful?" Ariadne lifted one eyebrow, giving him a long, snarky stare before the three broke into a short chuckle.

"Okay, bad example," Eames replied, smoothing back his hair.

"Anyway, what Eames is trying to say," Yusuf interrupted, playing the peacekeeper between them, "He's had some misunderstandings with Arthur in the past. It's a complicated story," Eames nodded in agreement, "And that stuff you heard before..."

"Don't tell Arthur, will you?" Eames said, "He doesn't know and I do not wish for him to ever know."

The young architect gave him a quick nod, "I understand. And Eames?," Eames looked to her puzzlingly, "Arthur and I are just friends, really. He already told me that he's not interested in a relationship right now. He only told me about Neil when I found this dog tag hidden in his drawer. Anyway, I'll see you tomorrow then, I guess?" With that, Ariadne left the two in the warehouse.

Eames took a huge huff of air, lucky that it was Ariadne who overheard and not Arthur, "Shit, that was close,"

"If you just told Arthur,"

"What if he's disturbed by it?"

"What if he isn't?"

"Or worse, what if he forces himself to stick with me despite getting tormented by Bane?"

"Don't you think Arthur could be able to handle that?"

"Yusuf,"

"I'm just saying,"

 

Eames wasn't sure how he had taken on an entire fortress of projections. Perhaps Bane's skill was bleeding through to him thanks to their reality sharing. How frightening, Eames thought. He wanted to distance himself from Bane as far as he could.

The inception job was successful. Eames was the only one who knew. He was the only one there, sitting beside Fischer as he announced to the world that he wasn't going to follow in his father's footsteps. Eames dropped the forgery of Browning. It was no longer necessary now that the idea had been planted firmly in Fischer's mind. There was a happiness in Fischer's eyes now that he was no longer burdened with his father's weight. When Eames awoke on the plane, he could still see that enlightenment in Fischer. _Job well done_. He resisted saying to Cobb as the man walked passed him warily at the luggage pickup.

With Saito's help, this was the first time a team hadn't needed to disperse due to enemy pursuers. Ariadne was the first one who had to leave, heading to a colleague of Miles who would be teaching her more about dream working. She gave Arthur a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before leaving to the bus. Eames looked upon Arthur as he received the kiss. He had forgotten how Arthur looked when he smiled. Yusuf patted his shoulder; he was second to leave and said his goodbye to Eames before heading back on a plane to Mombasa. Arthur decided to stay for Cobb's sake, watching out for him in case Saito hadn't cleared up all of his record. Eames remained solely because he had yet to give three hours to Bane due to the heavy workload and he'd rather have Bane happily satisfying himself in a city as opposed to a closed up, boring airplane trip.

He found himself a cheap hotel, distracting himself with TV until he could take it no longer. He eventually wound up staring at the clock, watching the minutes tick away. Always, if Eames had neglected to give him his three hours in a week since his last release, Bane would force his way through strictly at 9:00 pm. He watched the clock, 8:15, 45 minutes to himself before Bane could have his playtime.

There was a knock at the door. Eames groaned as he stood from the bed, stretching as he opened the door staring face to face with Arthur, "Arthur!" He shouted, backing away, "What are you doing here?" He cleared his throat, looking back at the clock to make sure Bane had yet to appear, "Anyway, I'm busy. Come back tomorrow," He made to close the door, only to be stopped by Arthur's suitcase wedged between the door and doorframe.

"Eames, we need to talk. Now,"

"No, it can wait. I'm sure," Eames replied, shutting the door tightly and locking it.

To no one's surprise, Arthur picked the lock in seconds and opened the door, stepping in and shutting it behind him, "Arthur. Really, I can't talk right now. Whatever you're angry about, I'm sorry, but can we talk about it tomorrow?" He was silenced by a open-hand slap on the face. His hand reflexively came up and touched his swelling cheek, "Arthur, what the hell!"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what?"

"About...about _him_ ,"

"Him? Him who?" Eames asked, before realizing a split second later, "Ariadne told you, didn't she?"

"No, Yusuf did. He pulled me over before he went on his plane and told me the truth that you had been hiding this monster inside your mind for years. He told me that in order to keep your sanity, you pledged to give him three hours a week of reality." Arthur explained, "How long, Eames, how long has _he_ been haunting you?" Eames was quiet; this was his worst nightmare, having Arthur know the demon residing in his body, "Tell me,"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Now if you could just kindly leave," He shoved at Arthur's shoulder, only for his wrist to be grabbed and his arm twisted up behind his back, "Ouch, damn it Arthur, what the hell are you doing?"

Arthur shoved forward, pressing Eames face down onto the bed still with his arm twisted behind him, "Was it back when we had that mission with Adrian, Cobb, and Mal?" When Eames didn't talk, Arthur twisted his arm harder.

Eames hissed in pain, pulling his head off the mattress, "Yes! That's when Bane started to appear,"

"Bane?"

"Yeah, I named him. What a great name, right?"

Arthur released Eames's arm, flipping him onto his back and straddling him with his knees, "He could've driven you insane. Hell, he could've have driven you to _suicide_. Why didn't you tell me?"

"There's nothing you could have done. I've tried everything. As long as I live, he'll live. The best I can do is placate the beast and hope no one else will get hurt because of him," Eames said, staring up at Arthur.

"That's why you never stayed in touch with me, always staying in Mombasa,"

"Yusuf was the only one I told. I couldn't risk Bane freeing himself while you were there. He made me keep up forgeries while he _tortured me to death_. I don't want to think about what he would've done to you." He didn't mention Bane's second 'hobby' involving Neil. No doubt that would be unpleasant for both of them.

Arthur nodded slowly, "So the phone call that time was..."

"Really bad timing, yes,"

"Why didn't you tell me about Bane?"

"What if you said you wanted to come to Mombasa to help me? What if you stayed and got hurt?"

"Oh Eames," Arthur murmured, moving off of Eames and onto the bed, "I thought you hated me all this time. That time, that call, you said some terrible things,"

Eames shook his head, still laying on the bed staring up at the ceiling, "No, none of that was from me. I'd never hate you," He reached out, taking Arthur's hand gently.

"I can help you. We'll find a way to fix this,"

"I've tried. I've really tried," Eames pulled Arthur down on top of him, crossing his arms over his shoulder blades and hugging tightly, "There's nothing anyone can do," He held him tighter and tighter, burying his face into his neck, "Arthur, you have to stay away from me. As long as you stay out of reach, Bane can't hurt you,"

"Idiot," Arthur muttered, releasing Eames to stare down at him, "You're not going to suffer through his alone. I won't let you,"

"You don't understand. He's obsessed with you. He'll hurt you. I'll hurt you,"

"I don't care! What's most important to me is that you are not alone in this," He leaned in close, using one hand to support his weight and the other one to hold Eames's chin, "Eames, Thomas Eames, I love you,"

The seriousness and stoicism Arthur tried to fit over his visage of worry and sadness made Eames happy. Even now, Arthur tried hard to be apathetic and solemn despite the sorrow clear on his face. Eames gave a sad, little laugh before grabbing onto Arthur and rolling him onto his back on the bed.

"What about Ariadne? You two were getting along quite well. And she can offer you a danger-free romance,"

"She's a friend, a close friend," He reached up, stroking Eames's stubble gently, "Danger has never been much of a deterrent for me,"

Eames smiled as he leaned in, whispering into Arthur's ear, "I love you too, Arthur Riordan," He pressed his lips hard against Arthur's. They embraced as they kissed, rolling around on the bed like high school lovers laying together for the first time.

Arthur easily stripped away Eames's clothing, a simple salmon-coloured polo shirt. He already had Eames's fly half down while Eames was still meticulously removing the buttons from Arthur's waistcoat, then undoing his fancy tie slowly, before returning to button removal on his dress shirt.

"God, why are there so many buttons?" Eames said with a short chortle, "Consider zippers next time. Do I get extra payment for doing all the hard work?" Arthur responded by leaning in, nipping and suckling at the butterfly tattoo on his neck. Eames hummed in pleasure, "Oh, much appreciated darling,"

Arthur's fingertips were soft, so soft, as they glided over his warm, smooth chest. He moaned softly as his tongue glided over Eames's neck tattoo and over to his ear. Eames heard Arthur chuckle when he shivered at the slick feeling of his tongue on his flesh, "No cologne this time?"

"You said you didn't like it," Eames replied, finally stripping off the dress shirt from Arthur, "Please tell me your trousers only have a single button," Arthur laughed against his neck before moving back and pressing their lips together passionately. Eames lifted both hands, holding Arthur's face to deepen the kiss and then-

He woke, laying in the dark hotel room upon the bed. He felt sorrow tug at his heart, had it all been a dream? He would have screamed again had he not felt the tug on his left arm. It was Arthur, laying beside him completely naked, gently snuggling his arm. The blissful expression on his face and the stains upon the blanket clearly revealed what had transpired between them tonight but Eames could not recall a single moment. He remembered kissing Arthur, undressing him, and then...

His eyes fell to the clock: 12:00 AM, "Son of a bitch," Eames whispered under his breath.

"Eames?" A tired mumble came from Arthur. He opened his eyes slowly, a smile upon his flushed face, "Is something wrong?"

Eames swallowed, frightened to see Arthur's reaction if he knew the truth, "No, nothing darling, go back to sleep," He leaned forward, kissing his forehead gently. He nearly growled at the sight of Arthur's pale flesh in the moonlight, dotted with love bites. Bane was marking his territory.

Eames waited several hours till Arthur was in a deep slumber. He shimmied out of Arthur's grip slowly, creeping out of bed and into Arthur's suitcase. As he expected, Arthur had possession of the PASIV device used for the inception. Eames threw one look over his shoulder, checking to make sure Arthur was actually asleep, before inserting the needle into his skin and activating the machine.

"Bane!" Eames growled the instant he entered the dream. It was the same night roof again. Bane must've been feeling stunted in creativity today.

Calmly, quietly, Bane stepped onto the roof using the stairwell. His eyes were soft, almost sad as he walked over to Eames, "You called, Mr. Eames,"

"How dare you," Eames hissed.

"On the contrary, Mr. Eames," Bane replied, "How dare _you_ hide Neil from me,"

"That was our night together. How dare you interrupt it!"

"I had no intention in ruining your night," Bane said in a condescending tone that drove Eames insane, "I was simply following the details of our contract. You had not given me my three hours in a week so I took over the final three hours of the day. It was only poor timing on your part."

In a sense, Bane wasn't wrong. Eames had timed that poorly. With Arthur finally in his arms, Eames had forgotten all about Bane and his contract. Eames really had no one to blame but himself for the miscalculation. Eames felt his anger against Bane settling. Bane, on the other hand, was not so forgiving.

He grabbed Eames by the neck with a single hand, slamming him hard onto the ground and stomping onto his chest hard. Eames screamed but his voice was cut off when Bane pressed a boot hard against his throat, " _You_ ," Bane growled. His eyes once sorrowful now burning with animalistic rage, "How did you hide Neil from me for so long?"

Eames laughed, choked, and subsequently coughed hard when Bane relieved the pressure on his throat, "I can't believe you didn't notice. Omnipotence in the subconscious, my arse!" Bane merely intensified his glare against Eames, "From the moment I sealed you, to the moment you awoke, years had passed. You have absolutely no memory of those years including all the people I met during it. Including Arthur!"

Bane let out a roar as he kicked Eames in the ribs, rolling him onto his stomach from the force, "I figured it out when you didn't know who Adrian was. And when I gave you your three hours in reality, I knew Arthur would be safe. You might be a master in the subconscious, maybe even a damn good forger, but you're an absolute shit point man just like me. There's no way you could have found out Arthur was Neil."

Eames had expected Bane to follow up with another attacked. He braced himself for a second, shutting his eyes and clenching his body only to feel the cold night air whistle around him. He opened his eyes again, watching Bane stand there with a melancholy look in his eyes. The breathing of his mask slowed down considerably from its normal pace.

Eames stood, slowly, holding his ribs as a burst of pain went through them, "So that time in Mombasa, it was _Neil_ you spurned. How does that feel, you bastard."

"I was right. Arthur is completely my business," Bane grumbled.

"He knows you exist. Yusuf told him and he accepts me regardless," Eames swallowed, "This is the only night you will hold him. Mark my words, I will _never_ let you have him ever again," Bane approached but Eames stayed strong, "I'll even give up forging for Arthur's sake. Now, you have _nothing_ to threaten me with, nothing at all."

Bane nodded, amused by Eames's words, "If that is what you believe, very well," His words took on an amused tone but his eyes spoke an entirely different story. Eames was always good at reading his emotions but today, it was a complete mystery. His eyes weren't happy, weren't sad, weren't even angry. All Eames could tell was that he was definitely plotting due to the telltale twitch of his left eye.

"Before you awaken, Mr. Eames, does our arrangement still stand? Three hours of reality?"

"Of course," Eames replied, "You've earned that much,"

Bane chuckled hoarsely, "Earned? Interesting terminology,"

"Don't worry, I'll make sure Arthur is out of harm's way before I let you out,"

"I would never hurt Neil,"

"We have very different definitions of 'hurt',"

Bane burst out into cruel laughter, turning his back to the roof exit, "Clever as always, Mr. Eames, good day to you,"

Eames woke up, troubled. _That was way too easy_.  

Eames barely had a wink of sleep that night. He feared that while he was unconscious, Bane would force his way out and take Arthur from him. He found himself cuddling Arthur as he slept, hugging him close like a teddy bear to ward off the boogeyman hiding in the shadows.

The boogeyman had nothing on the real demon hiding in the shadows.

"Eames, you look exhausted," Arthur said, stepping out from the shower in nothing but a towel around his waist.

Despite the haze of exhaustion, Eames still managed a hearty chuckle as he sat up, "Are you trying to make me feel bad for what I've been missing all these years? Because its working," He leaned back in bed, stretching as he continued to laugh. His arm entwined itself around Arthur's waist as the point man sat upon the bed, taking another towel to dry his hair. His fingers reached forward, tracing the bites and bruises along his back, suddenly remembering who had done this to him.

"Arthur, I'm sorry," He said quickly, his finger still tracing the line of love bites down his spine all the way to the swell of his butt.

Arthur turned to him, smiling unexpectedly, "It's alright. You were excited," He lay his head on Eames's stomach, the two making a T on the bed with their bodies, "Eames, our first night together, can you believe it?"

"Just barely," Eames said, trying his damndest to ignore the fact that Bane had stolen that night from him.

"How long has it been since we first met?"

"Almost fifteen years," Eames laced their fingers together, holding Arthur's hand close, "And for most of those years, we weren't even together,"

"I know," Arthur lifted Eames's hand, kissing the back of it, "Did you imagine it back then? What our lives be like? I always figured I'd be out there getting my hands dirty with illegal work and you'd be out there, beating people up for money,"

"That's actually pretty accurate," Eames chuckled, bobbing Arthur's head as he did. With his other hand, he brushed his fingers through the wet strands of Arthur's hair, "Do you believe in destiny?"

Arthur scoffed, knocking off Eames's hand playfully, "That's so cheesy,"

"I'll take that as a yes," Eames laughed again, sitting up so Arthur's head lay in his lap, "The sight of you wearing nothing but a towel with your face so close to my crotch really isn't helping my morning stiffy,"

Eames's heart nearly leapt out of his chest as Arthur flipped around on the bed and pulled down Eames's briefs, still sticky from the night, "B-Bloody H-!" Eames gasped before he broke out into a shrill moan as Arthur began sucking his erection. His hands reflexively found themselves on Arthur's head, threading through his wet hair and combing through them when they lost their grip, "Darling, darling, darling," Arthur's mouth felt amazing. He knew exactly how to stimulate him. Eames felt only velvety heat and a soothing, wet massage against his cock. When he felt Arthur's tongue tangle itself with the head, his hand finishing the rest of the shaft, Eames let out a throaty, uninhibited moan, hips jerking forward. He looked down, still stroking Arthur's head aimlessly, mind blown to pieces from pleasure. That sexy glare Arthur shot back, eyes low and shining with lust, pushed Eames right over the edge. He hit his orgasm, coming right into Arthur's mouth and splattering some onto his cheek. Eames lay back, basking in the afterglow for a long moment, shuddering as Arthur swallowed all his semen and wiped up his cheek.

"My god, Arthur," Eames said in a breathless voice, "That was bloody amazing. Where did you learn how to do all that?" He stopped, instantly. _Ah, right_ , "Arthur, I'm sorry,"

Arthur lay beside Eames, face down so his wet hair wouldn't touch the pillow, "It's alright," He reached a hand forward, tracing the tattoo on Eames's right arm with a finger, "That last extraction, the one last job we had together back in the government. It taught me something important," He shook his head slowly, "I can't throw away my past," He looked to Eames with a sudden sadness that made the forger pull Arthur into his embrace, "Have I ever told you about Brian Lackey?"

Eames shook his head, "No,"

"He was...a friend. Back in Little League, Coach and I brought him back to his house," Arthur trailed off. Eames filled in the blanks himself, "Those horrible memories of Coach, he repressed all of them," A small, sad smile appeared on his face, "He thought he was abducted by aliens all these years. And then Christmas came, I left New York, met him again," He swallowed deeply, sitting up in Eames's arms but staying firmly tucked in his embrace, "I told him everything. And it all came back like a train, running him over,"

"He killed himself, didn't he?" Eames said in a soft whisper.

Arthur nodded, shutting his eyes, "A year later. He let those memories stew and fester for a year till he couldn't take it anymore. He hung himself on Christmas Eve." He felt Eames tighten his arms around him, almost suffocating him, "Eames?"

"God, Arthur, I should've went with you to Kansas," The thought of losing Arthur in the same way, having his awful memories consume him till death was the most pleasing escape route.

Arthur pressed his hands gently against Eames's face, soothing him, "Eames, it's okay. I'm alive, alright? But, that's not the point I was trying to make. What I was trying to say is that I can't leave my past and trying to repress it will only make it worse. It's a part of me and if you could accept that part of me, why shouldn't I accept it as well?" He pulled away a bit, examining Eames, "Eames? Are you okay?"

Not at all, Eames was not okay at all. The story tore at him but Arthur's mention of Brian and memory repression only agitated his already throbbing wounds caused by Bane. The more he held Arthur, the more frightened he was of Bane's escape. Eames almost laughed at the blackness of his humour. Here Arthur was, saying that he had to embrace his past, talking to the man who repressed his past to the point where it grew a consciousness of its own. A small smile was on his lips but died quickly as Eames pulled Arthur close again, "Just hold onto me for a while,"

Arthur returned the hug, snuggling into him and shutting his eyes. Eames stroked his back gently, feeling each lean muscle upon his back, "This might sound a bit dodgy, but back when I was training for Sparta, whenever I felt alone or upset because of my father or just everything in general, I'd dream of you holding me and comforting me," He snuggled deeper into his arms, cuddling him as if he was an actual teddy bear, "This feels amazing,"

A sigh came from Arthur as Eames's hand settled on the small of his back, "We should get up soon. We have fifteen years to catch up on," With the gentleness of a butterfly, Arthur took Eames's hand and walked him to the bathroom.

The two shared the shower together. Eames stood in the shower spray, stroking back his hair and scrubbing the shampoo in as Arthur scrubbed him down with soap. A small moan escaped from Eames's lips as Arthur traced the tattoos all over his body. Some were new, Arthur noticed. there was an England flag upon his chest right above his left pectoral. When he circled around behind Eames, Arthur pressed his lips onto the butterfly tattoo again. Their bond that kept them together even after the most impossible odds was manifested in physical form through this tattoo.

As hard as they tried to just shower, Eames and Arthur found themselves tangled in each other's arms again pressing kisses against every part they could reach. Arthur straddled Eames's lap as he toweled off the forger's hair. Eames distracted himself by sweeping his hands over Arthur's lean body, memorizing every curve and muscle.

"We should get you a tattoo," Eames said as he stroked the sensitive spot between Arthur's stomach and his right hipbone, "Right here, maybe something. So I can remember this is where you're most sensitive," Arthur smacked him playfully on the head before returning to drying Eames's hair.

With a handful of gel, Arthur combed his fingers through his brown locks. At first, he gelled it all back similar to Cobb's signature style. He backed away, shaking his head, "No, that comb over has become a part of you,"

"Arthur, we're not playing dress up here," Eames said, fixing his signature right heavy comb over, "If we were, I'd have you dolled up like a nurse,"

"In your dreams, Mr. Eames,"

"Good thing we specialize in that,"

Breakfast time had ended by the time they left the hotel room, too distracted by each other's presence. Eames was dressed in a leather jacket and simple top. Arthur, as always, dressed like he was going to work at high prestige bank. Every minute they spent together, whether it was merely eating lunch at a cheap diner or playing poker in the middle of a park, felt like heaven had descended upon them crushing them with its absolute bliss. Arthur had Adrian for a while, a serious relationship he hoped to carry on long term. On the other hand, Eames had been involved with one night stands throughout his entire career. Both searched for their soul mate in their own way but only now, when they were finally reunited, did they feel perfectly whole. _You are my other half_. The two whispered in their minds as they met for a kiss.

Eames never was a man with a plan; he preferred improvisation. Arthur was completely by the book, meticulously scheduling everything they could fit in one day right down to _bathroom breaks_. Eames played along for the most part, taking a look at Arthur's Blackberry every few minutes to make sure he wasn't overstepping any boundaries.

"Arthur, really, you scheduled time for ice cream too?" Eames took the Blackberry, scanning the schedule Arthur had planned along.

"I want to squeeze in as much as we can. A schedule is the best way to do so," Arthur reached for his Blackberry, growing suspicious when Eames pulled it away from his grasp, "Eames, give it back,"

Eames continued scrolling through it, holding it just out of Arthur's grasp every time, "Oh my, 'drop by sex shop'. You kinky little minx," Eames said, loudly, making sure everyone in their premises heard them. While Arthur was stunned with embarrassment, Eames popped the battery out of his Blackberry and handed it back to Arthur, pocketing the battery for himself, "There you go,"

"Eames, give that back!" He reached into the pocket of Eames's jacket. Eames was swift, always just out of Arthur's reach so he could barely feel his finger tips brush against his breast.

"We've played by your rules long enough, darling, now we play by mine," Eames said with a chuckle, grabbing Arthur's wrist and pulling him down the street, "I know I spotted the store around here somewhere," When he caught sight of it, he ran, dragging Arthur along far too eagerly.

Before Arthur could lay his eyes upon what Eames had found, the forger cupped his hands right over Arthur's eyes, "Eames? What are you playing at?"

"Trust me, love," He whispered into his ears, walking him into the store and down an aisle.

The store was dead silent with only the sound of a single customer meandering in the back. The store smelled mostly clean, like novelty plastic. The answer came to Arthur the instant he caught a whiff of that smell. He laughed, removing Eames's hands and looking upon the trinket store he had stepped into.

"You are such a child," He said, smiling brightly as he examined the trinkets.

Eames loved that smile, so carefree, so innocent, and dimples too, "You're welcome, darling," He picked up a shopping basket and shoveled as many different trinkets he could find into the basket. The cashier was certainly pleased, smiling almost psychotically thinking about the commission he'd finally rake in. Arthur continued to laugh behind Eames, the nostalgia in the air like laughing gas.

Everything felt well with Eames till his fingers grasped a metal box. He froze, Arthur's laughter muted, everything faded straight to black. He jerked his hand away, reality returning instantly. He couldn't look at Arthur, not while his heart pounded so viciously in his chest.

"Eames?"

"I'm fine, darling," Eames said, forging his most calmest persona, "Shall we bring these to check out?"

Arthur forgave Eames fairly quickly for holding his Blackberry battery hostage, won over by the wondrous trinket store Eames had found. They returned to the hotel, sitting on the bed and playing with the toys like children in a sandbox.

"And so, by pressing on the rounded end, a syringe will push fake blood through the supposed blade, mimicking a wound. I see, that's pretty simple,"

"Arthur, darling, it's not fun if you try to explain everything,"

"I figured out rigging the die too. You see, there's a weak lock that secured a moving weight within the die," Arthur was promptly shut up by Eames pressing his fingers to his lips. Arthur responded by kissing the pads of his fingers, "I can tell you about the multiplying poker chips too,"

Eames chuckled, still rubbing the multiplying chips in his hands, "Oh, we've got a whole box of tricks left. I'll find one to stump you," Eames leaned off the bed, reaching into the bag and stuffing his hand in like a boy reaching into a candy bowl.

His hands brushed something metal. _What the hell_. He hadn't picked up the box. Panic rose in him, engulfing him till all he saw was darkness and all he heard was heavy, metal breathing.

"Eames!"

Arthur's voice woke him, his hands on his shoulders steadied him, "What's wrong?"

Eames swallowed, pushing Arthur back as he took a deep breath, calming himself, "Nothing, darling, nothing," He looked back in the bag, no metal box in sight, "Arthur, before we continue our little game..."

"Bane, right?"

Eames nodded quickly, "There are some precautions we must take," He leaned over the bed, taking out a pen and pad of paper from the bedstead, "I'll write them down for you,"

"It'd be easier if you let me type them into my Blackberry,"

"Oh darling, I'm not falling for that," Eames's smirk hid little of his true feelings, "So, by any chance, if my behaviour changes or my voice sounds strange, stay away from me," Bane's exaggerated accent came to mind a bit too quickly, "Secondly, I made a deal to let Bane out for three hours every week in exchange for leaving my jobs alone. Every time those three hours arrive, get as far away from me as you can. Don't even tell me where you're going,"

Arthur nodded slowly, "You sure that's ideal?"

"Arthur, he's obsessed with you," Eames said, shameful, "He was Tommy. All those years trapped in the subconscious mutated him into a monster. All of his emotions, rage, love, have been corrupted in the darkness," He reached out, touching his fingers to Arthur's chin. He responded by nuzzling his hand, "My love for you, Tommy's love for you, has become a lustful obsession for Bane." Eames knew firsthand the extent of Bane's insatiable lust.

"Alright, just prompt me the day before,"

Eames nodded, scribbling that down for himself, "Thirdly, keep anyone who knows us away as well. That means Dom, Ariadne, Yusuf, everyone. No doubt Bane will do something to them if the opportunity arises. Fourthly, and most importantly, if you ever feel threatened, I want you to shoot me,"

"Eames, there's no way I'm going to do that,"

"I'd rather you kill me than have Bane hurt you," Eames said, quiet, solemn, "It would kill me to know that my hands, my actions led to your pain," He tore the page out from the notepad, handing it to Arthur, "If I remember anything else, I will write them down,"

Arthur's hands took the paper, laying it aside as he leaned forward and kissed Eames. His hands came forward, pressing them gingerly against Eames's shoulders and moving down his well-muscled arms. Eames smiled sadly, his arms wrapping around Arthur's waist and pulling him close. Someday, Bane will escape and exact his revenge against Eames. That much was certain. In that case, if his time with Arthur was limited, then Eames wanted to bring as much joy to Arthur's life as he could before he is torn away.

"Arthur, before we have to get back to work, I want to show you the world," He kissed Arthur's nose playfully, "This will be the happiest time in your entire life, I promise," Eames immediately reached over, shoving the used trinkets into another bag and depositing it into his suitcase, "We'll play with the rest of the trinkets later. Right now, let's go out."

"On a date?" Arthur asked with a coy smile, hanging the bag with the unused trinkets on the bedpost, "How cheesy,"

Eames wrapped his arms around Arthur, hauling him off the bed and right against his body, "Oh, darling, it'll be so much more than a date,"

 

 

"Oh darling, this wine," Eames moaned in pleasure as he sipped the wine in his glass, "You didn't have to,"

Arthur chuckled, tapping his Blackberry to shut off his wine selection app, "You said you wanted to make this the happiest time in my life. So certainly, I had to," He took his own glass, swirling the dark fluid and catching the wafting scent before taking a sip, "Only the finest for us,"

This was paradise, sitting on the balcony of the finest French restaurant in Los Angeles looking down at the entire city while sipping the finest wine they could afford. Arthur occupied himself with slices of blue cheese accompanying his wine while Eames settled for staring at Arthur gleefully as the point man ate.

"You're freaking me out," Arthur said with a chuckle, "Is there something on my face?"

Eames sighed happily, leaning in and touching his free hand, "All the wine in the world would not be worth a mere moment to gaze upon you," Eames was promptly shut up by a hunk of fancy cheese stuffed into his mouth.

"Cheesy," Arthur replied.

 

 

Eames was never a big fan of swimming. He was a swimmer when he was younger only because his father believed it was a great way to train the body. His hatred for his father inevitably bled into swimming and he grew to despise it. However, the chance to see Arthur in nothing but swimming trunks splashing around in the water won over his hatred.

Eames himself wore a tight black Speedo, providing little to nothing for the imagination. He sat himself down on a towel, staring up at the sunny, cloudless sky waiting for Arthur to leave the change room. _The man must be shy, how cute_. Eames giggled sheepishly to himself, thinking of Arthur too shy to expose his entire body.

"Eames, what are you laughing about?" Arthur said, eyes narrowing as he towered over the forger dressed in khaki shorts and a short-sleeved hooded shirt that bared only a small triangle of his chest. His eyes voyeuristically traced the tattoos of his shoulders down his sculpted chest towards the small patch of hair right at the band of his Speedo. He couldn't fight the blush building at his cheeks but luckily, Eames paid no attention.

Eames immediately jumped to his feet, horrified by the sight, "Arthur, what are you wearing?"

"Clothing for the beach," Arthur replied, eyes narrowing, "You told me to pack for the beach,"

"You call this clothing for the beach? You're wearing a shirt and pants!"

Arthur's eyes only continued to narrow, "You didn't bring me here to enjoy the beach at all, did you?"

"Of course I did. Let's go swimming, come on, take off your shirt," Eames said with a toothy smile, grabbing onto Arthur's arm with one hand and grabbing a fistful of his shirt in the other.

"Eames!" Arthur stuttered as the bigger man began dragging Arthur across the sand into the water, "Stop that. I mean it! I prefer being covered up when I'm in public," Eames nearly had Arthur's shirt over his head until a wave crept up from behind them and drenched Eames completely leaving Arthur miraculously dry. Eames merely stood there for a while, trying to absorb what type of magic Arthur had conjured to make that wave appear, "I warned you," Arthur said, chuckling.

Eames immediately retracted his hands, backing away cautiously, "Oh Arthur, the great deity, forgive my insolence,"

 "Deity? Of what?"

"A sex god, most likely. Did you know Aphrodite was born from the sea?"

"Figured you'd be a classical mythology fan,"

 

 

Eames was not sure why he felt so upset at the moment. He was sure Bane had just taken over momentarily and did something in secret to put fear in his heart. Arthur and Eames found themselves in a small Karaoke bar huddled together at a small round table. Arthur sat up tall, watching Eames with his hands wrapped around an iced tea. Eames stayed slouched over the table, eyes locked with the cup of tea beneath him. Luckily, the bar was filled with few people. It was late at night, far too late for students but early enough to avoid the drunkards.

Arthur reached a hand out, stroking Eames's back soothingly as the man sulked over his tea. Eames's back jerked as he let out a dry chuckle, "It's kind of funny,"

"What is?"

Eames took the container of cream provided and slowly mixed it into his tea, "The irony," He tossed the container aside and merely watched as the milk dissipated into the dark drink, "When we met again, I was lecturing you about not hiding your past when all along, I was trying my damndest to hide my past. No, not just hide, I was trying to _bury_ it till nothing traceable was left. Now it has come back to bite me in the arse," Eames let out another heartbreaking chuckle, "What does that say about me?"

"It says that we're very alike," Arthur said trying to lighten the mood, "There's nothing wrong with hiding from your past. You just have to realize that eventually, you'll have to reconcile with it,"

"That's easy for you to say. Your past isn't a sentient being dwelling in your mind," Eames took a sip of his milk tea.

"Do you remember that mission with Adrian, Cobb, and Mal? Do you remember how I lost control and broke into tears,"

"Of course, and I held you. It felt so right yet so wrong,"

"Do you remember my subconscious losing control and my projections started appearing?" Arthur took Eames's hands and lifted his chin with the other, "If you weren't there, I probably would have lost complete control of my subconscious. Don't you understand?" Eames shrugged weakly, "It's because _you_ were there that I was able to get it all under control again. When all this was happening to you, you tried to face it alone, didn't you?" Eames didn't answer but he pouted like a child, "Maybe that's what you need, you need someone to face it with you,"

_It's not the same. You didn't put me in danger_. Eames wasn't listening at all to Arthur's words.

Arthur stood from the table when Eames did not respond. The forger was startled, immediately reaching for him, fearing that Arthur was leaving him behind. When he saw the point man head towards the stage, his panic became intrigue. He reclined in his chair, watching as Arthur took the microphone from a mousy looking fellow who could barely sing.

"Check one, two," Arthur muttered into the microphone. He withdrew his Blackberry and plugged it into the Karaoke machine, uploading his song list to the machine. When soft guitar began playing, Arthur pulled away from the machine and latched his microphone onto the stand. He held it gingerly with his fingertips as he began, " _When the earth was still flat and the clouds made of fire..._ " Eames was genuinely surprised at the gentleness in Arthur's sharp voice. The softness of his voice somehow reminded him of Neil just a little. There was a vulnerability in his voice that made Eames remember the sweetness of Neil in Tommy's bitter life.

_"Folks roamed the earth like big rolling kegs._

_They had two sets of arms and two sets of legs._

_They had two faces peering out of one giant head_

_So they could watch all around them as they talked while they read_

_And they never knew nothing of love_

_It was before..._

_The origin of love,"_

Eames had never heard this song before. He heard murmurs that it was from a movie called Hedwig and the Angry Inch. One snobbish student sat in the back bragging how it was taken from a speech about love from Aristophanes, infamous for writing Greek comedies. Eames didn't care; he was too lost in this new softness to Arthur that he bet no one, specifically Adrian and Ariadne, had seen before.

The song continued slowly. Arthur serenaded the crowd with stories of how this race of multi-limbed kegs had three genders mixed with men and women. Though the tone was soft as before, the subject matter changed quickly to the gods of mythology plotting to punish this race for their insolence by splitting them in half.

The song slowed before picking up with drum beats akin to lightning.

" _And then fire shot down from the sky in bolts,_

_Like shining blades of a knife and it ripped right through the flesh_

_of the children of the sun and the moon and the earth"_

Eames left the round table, compelled to sit closer so he could absorb the sudden raw emotion coming from Arthur as he sang about the splitting of this race into two beings. The final phrase during that burst of raw emotion spoke of cutting down the beings again: _If we don't behave, they'll cut us down again and we'll be hopping around on one foot, looking through one eye_. Eames took a handful of his shirt into his fist. To be split into two was something too painfully familiar to him but he knew Arthur hadn't sang this song to mock him and Bane. Arthur's eyes opened as the music became serene again. He locked eyes with Eames, watching him as he sang.

_"Last time I saw you, we had just split in two_

_You were looking at me_

_I was looking at you._

_You had a way so familiar, but I could not recognize_

_'Cause you had blood on your face_

_I had blood in my eyes_

_But I could swear by your expression,_

_that the pain down in your soul was the same as the one down in mine"_

Eames couldn't resist the sadness in Arthur's voice combined with the raw affection in his eyes. He stepped onto stage and pulled Arthur flush against his body. Arthur took the microphone off the stand, holding it against his mouth so the rest of his body could remain pressed to Eames's.

_"That's the pain that cuts a straight line down through the heart_

_We call it love_

_We wrapped our arms around each other_

_Tried to shove ourselves back together_

_We were making love, making love"_

Eames released Arthur, wrapping his arms around him from behind so Arthur could place the microphone back on the stand and finish his song with a voice filled with power and heart.

" _It was a cold, dark evening such a long time ago_

_when the mighty hand of Jove_

_It was the sad story how we became lonely two legged creatures_

_It's the story of the origin of love_

_That's the origin of love,"_

Applause came from the small crowd as Arthur finished his song and handed the microphone off. Instead of returning to their table, Eames grabbed Arthur and embraced him till he thought the thinner man might break. Now more than ever, Eames knew Arthur must've been his true half, his true love, his soul mate. Now more than ever, he wanted to take Arthur to bed and unite their two halves again.

"This Aristophanes fellow knows exactly what he's talking about,"

 

 

Fueled with absolute passion for the man beneath him, Eames spent no time stripping off his lover's clothes, promising to buy him new clothing when he accidentally tore the buttons off his fancy waist coat. The weight of his body pressing Arthur's body into the mattress felt absolutely amazing. This was his first time with Arthur. This time Bane would not interrupt. It would be his moment alone.

The love bites left behind by Bane only made Eames more voracious for the beautiful man beneath him. He left bites of his own, licking them over to soothe the ache they left behind. When his entire body was sufficiently claimed, Eames crept back up Arthur's body and proceeded to cover every inch of his face and neck with butterfly kisses.

"Eames," Arthur moaned at the sensation of his plush lips pressing all over his face, "More," A shrill moan escaped his lips as Eames brought his hand down and stroked both of them together at the same time. The heat was so intense and threatened to push both of them to their climax but both men fought to prolong their pleasure.

"As you wish, love," Eames replied, reaching into his discarded pants to retrieve a bottle of lube.

Arthur looked to the bottle in his hands through the haze of pleasure, "You carry that around with you?" He asked. His playful chuckle dissolved into a throaty moan as Eames bent down and began sucking on his cock, hard, "Oh god, Eames!" Arthur moaned. He didn't dare look at Eames. One look at his luscious, plump lips encircling his cock and he'd most definitely hit his climax.

"Just let me take care of you tonight, darling," He said, lips ghosting over the head of his penis. One slicked finger pressed down inside Arthur. The point man moaned again, covering his face as it flushed darker and darker, "Let me see your face. Please, darling?"

Arthur chuckled through the pleasure, moaning again as Eames took one of his testicles into his mouth and suckled on it, "When you're twisting your fingers so _cruelly_ inside me, how could I agree to that?" He broke into a loud moan again as Eames's mouth returned to his now leaking erection, "Eames! I want you inside me! Please, it has to be now, please, please," He was reaching his climax fast. He needed to feel Eames inside him now or never.

"As you wish," Eames took Arthur's hand, kissing the back of it before moving so Arthur's knees were on either side of him, "I love you so much," He whispered into Arthur's ear before thrusting his lubricated cock deep inside Arthur.

He was so tight, so hot. Eames's entire body shuddered as that intense heat spread throughout his body torturously slowly. Their moans intertwined, joining together into a ballad of ecstasy. Arthur's hands found themselves clinging to Eames's back, gripping into the firm muscles that flexed with every thrust. Eames's hands found themselves alternating between jerking Arthur off and holding his hips to steady the angle. He rested his mouth right against Arthur's neck, continuously suckling at his neck and lapping at his ear at random to sent sudden bursts of pleasure through Arthur's body.

Both reached their orgasm almost simultaneously. Neither of them could truly tell, the pleasure completely wiped away their ability to think, replacing it with just primal ecstasy. The two lay together in bed, Eames still crushing Arthur's body with his own, basking in the afterglow that they wish lasted forever. The thin layer where their bodies touched was white-hot and threatened to melt them away. Eventually, when the orgasm passed, Eames rolled off Arthur but kept his arms still wrapped around him. A smile was plastered on his face. His wish from more than a decade ago was finally fulfilled. Arthur was his. _Neil was hi_ s.

A playful smile was also on Arthur's face. He cuddled close, stroking his chest gently with one hand, "You're usually not this gentle in bed. Did the opera soften you up?" He kissed Eames's chin before shutting his eyes, losing himself to sleep and completely missing the baffled expression on Eames's face.

_Opera? What Opera?_ He looked back down at Arthur, backing up gently so he wouldn't wake the sleeping point man. _Usually?_ This was his first night with Arthur not counting when Bane took over. Wasn't it? He could recount exactly what had happened. They played with the trinkets, they went for wine, cheese, and other snack foods at a French restaurant, they dropped by the beach, and then they finished with karaoke.

No, when recounting the day, Eames could see the blatant inconsistencies. _Arthur's Blackberry_. The battery should've been tucked away with Eames but Eames clearly remembers Arthur playing around with it. They hadn't gone for dinner that day either, merely snacks at the French restaurant. There was no way they could have gotten to the beach while the sun was still up if they had left after the French restaurant. Most importantly, he could not remember _how_ they had gotten from one place to another. It all just happened like a dream.

He reached for his totem first, rubbing at it. He wasn't dreaming.

His eyes fell upon the unused trinket bag hanging on the bedpost by Arthur's head. It was completely empty. He checked the bag in his suitcase finding it filled with used trinkets as he expected. Quietly, he picked up Arthur's Blackberry from the desk where it was being charged. He flipped it on, finding a folder affectionately called 'With Eames'. He opened it finding seven day schedules checked off.

Eames had lost an entire week's time with Arthur.

Eames didn't wait. He pulled the PASIV out from Arthur's suitcase, plugged himself in, and started his dream.

"Bane!" Eames shouted into the emptiness of the desolate, night beach Bane had created for him, "Get out here this instant!" There was no response, "You bastard, we had an agreement!" Eames began to wander around on the beach, searching for the monster in his mind. When he grew tired, he began surveying his surroundings. The stadium behind him was plastered with images of fighters on a red backing. He was back in Boardwalk on the beach he had met his brother during the Sparta tournament.

Heavy footsteps even against the soft sand alerted Eames of Bane's presence. He turned, looking at the masked man who kept his hands rested on the edges of his armored vest, "Mr. Eames, how was your day?" The bastard was mocking him.

"Marvelous, how was your week?" Eames hissed.

"Marvelous," Bane followed with a deep laugh which only made Eames seethe with anger even more.

"We had an agreement. Three hours a week and you stay out of my job," Eames said stepping right up to Bane, "What the hell was that!"

"Had our previous situation continued, I would have been more than happy to settle with three hours a week. Reality is simple and overall quite uneventful," Bane leaned forward, breathing his chemical breath right into Eames's face, "But our situation has changed, has it not? Do you think I'd really settle for three hours a week while you spend the rest of the 165 hours with _my beloved_?"

"Arthur is not yours,"

"But Neil is," Bane backed away, dropping his goatskin coat to the ground, "I met him first, after all," And then Bane was gone. In place was Tommy dressed in an ill-fitting grey shirt with jeans.

Eames growled, moving forward and grabbing Tommy's collar, hauling him towards him, "That is a _lousy_ forgery!"

"I'm the forgery?" Tommy barked back, shoving at Eames's chest, "Open your eyes. You're just a forgery who grew a mind of his own and sealed me away,"

Eames shook his head, "You've got it backwards,"

Tommy cocked his head back. He made a face so sarcastic, so cocky that it made Eames's rage ignite, "Oh do I? Who are you, 'Eames'?" Dropping the honorific only made his name seem less natural in Tommy's mouth, "There never was an 'Eames'. There was a Tommy Conlon who grew up with a piece of shit father and inherited his bad temper who then got locked away in his own mind till he became old and vengeful. What's Eames? Where did he even come from?"

"I am Tommy!" Eames shouted back. He couldn't think of anything to say. Was Bane locking him out of his own ability to think? He couldn't be completely sure. Tommy's words weren't wrong and that only made him sting more, "Don't turn this against me. It has been over a decade. People grow up; people change. Just like Tommy did,"

A thick hand clamped around Eames's neck. Tommy was gone; Bane stood in his place, "Indeed. People grow up; people change. Just like Tommy did, into me," He shoved Eames hard into the sand, watching the man scramble for balance, "And now I'm taking back what belongs to me. My life, my body, my beloved," He chuckled loudly, "Mr. Eames, if you truly wished to remain in power, you never should have made a deal with me. All you've done is teach me how to break into consciousness."

"He's not your 'beloved'. He never will be,"

"On the contrary, Mr. Eames. For every day you spend with _Arthur_ , I will have already spent a week with him," Bane said, "And why stop there? Maybe I'll make it month next. Maybe an entire _year_ ," He towered over Eames who lay on the ground just barely trembling, "You wanted control. That's why you sealed me away. But you see, Mr. Eames, you've never had control at all," He kneeled to him, using one finger to lifted Eames's chin, "I will take all of Arthur for myself. I will absorb everything about your life into my own. And I will let you awaken just long enough to see how nothing in this world belongs to you anymore. Then I shall prove to you that you are _nothing but a forgery_ ,"

Bane disappeared, or maybe he was never there. Eames was left laying in the sand, trembling in fear. There was nothing he could do. Every single morsel of control was ripped away from him. Everything was working out so well. Why did this have to happen?

 

A soft sound woke Arthur up. He shifted in the sheets, noticing that Eames was no longer beside him. Instead, the forger was seated at the foot of the bed hunched over. The PASIV was sitting on a chair beside the bed sending major caution signals to Arthur. He sat up, brushing back his loose hair as it fell into his eyes.

"Eames, are you alright?" Arthur whispered. He moved closer but Eames didn't respond, "Eames?" He whispered again, reaching out to his shoulder.

That's when he noticed his back trembling weakly. Those soft sounds that woke him up, they were sobs. Arthur immediately rushed over and pulled Eames into his arms. Eames fought at first; he didn't want Arthur to see his tears. However, as soon as his eyes fell upon Arthur's, he dove into the thinner man's arms and hugged him tightly. This could be the last time he held Arthur. He had to make it count.

"Eames, it's okay. I'm right here," Arthur whispered, shushing him as he rubbed at his back soothingly.

"And if we don't behave, they'll cut us down again and we'll be hopping around on one foot, looking through one eye," Eames whispered the verse from Arthur's song that tore through him most.

"Eames?"

"I thought this was our second day together," Eames sobbed weakly, "It isn't, is it?"

Arthur shook his head slowly, "No, it's been a week," The repercussions of what Eames had just said hit Arthur instantaneously. All this time, it was Bane who held him, "Oh god, Eames, I didn't know. He was just like you,"

"He's a master forger after all," Eames said with a sad chuckle, "And I'm his finest forgery,"

"You're not a forgery," Arthur took his face into his hands, staring straight into his eyes, "Whatever he said to you, it's not true."

Eames ignored him as he spoke, "Who's talking to you right now?"

Arthur stopped. He couldn't say. He hadn't felt anything different throughout the entire week. The only difference was in bed. Bane was rough, too eager. Eames was gentle. Arthur swallowed and touched Eames's face gently, "Eames. This one's Eames,"

The two could say nothing more but empty promises and laments. Arthur brought Eames back under the sheets and slept with his arms around him as if his presence could somehow rid the darkness in Eames's mind.

The next morning, Arthur awoke to a finger tracing over his features gently. He opened his eyes slowly, watching at the finger traced over his lips softly and down his chin, "Eames?" He whispered, looking up at the sad smile Eames gave him.

"Morning love," He whispered, planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

Arthur reached over to his bedstead, grabbing his Blackberry, "What time is it?" Eames stopped his hand, resting the Blackberry back onto the wooden surface.

"Can we stay inside today? Please, I don't want to do anything that Bane might take over," Eames said, lower himself so he remained on top of Arthur.

He was still hurting from what had happened. Arthur couldn't blame him. The two curled back under the blankets and pretended to go back to sleep. Every once in a while, Arthur opened one eye and watched Eames. The forger would frequently reach for Arthur's Blackberry, checking the date and time before going back to sleep for another twenty minutes. This one was Eames. It had to be Eames.

When Arthur finally coaxed Eames out of bed, the two ordered room service and ate together on the bed. Arthur managed to get a smile out of Eames when he fed him a spoonful of oatmeal and berries. The forger clamped down on the spoon, swallowing it like a child before reaching up to smear yogurt onto Arthur's cheek.

"Hey!" Arthur shouted, wiping at his face.

"Sorry darling, missed," Eames's dazzling smile appeared again. He held up another spoon of yogurt, "Say Ah," He cooed as he pushed the spoon to Arthur's lips. The point man opened his mouth, lapping away at the yogurt with his tongue seductively, "Saucy little minx," Eames muttered under his breath at the sight. This one was Eames. It had to be Eames.

There wasn't much on the television. Arthur had decided to leave it on The Discovery Channel but neither were truly paying attention. Instead, Eames had initiated a tickle fight instead taking advantage of the thin, easily removed sleeping clothes Arthur had on. The point man almost choked when Eames first buried his fingers into the soft flesh of his belly. He burst into laughter when the pressure continued, tracing almost to the front of his stomach towards his navel.

"Stop! Stop!" Arthur shouted, squealing when Eames's fingers found his navel and jostled his finger inside.

Eames could have stayed out of reach, happy torturing Arthur from afar, but he stayed close enough for Arthur to retaliate. When Arthur's hands came up and tickled the spot right beneath his armpits, Eames broke into deep laughter and flattened Arthur down onto the bed, "Stop that!" He muttered through his laughter, burying his face into Arthur's neck.

"What- You first!" Arthur replied, squealing again as Eames blew a raspberry into his neck.

Using his nimbler body, Arthur gained the upper hand and had Eames pinned to the mattress on his stomach. His thin fingers continued digging into Eames's underarms, forcing him into uncontrollable laughter, "Ah! I give!" Eames shouted, slapping the mattress with one hand.

Arthur relented, rolling onto the bed beside him with a large smile, "As always,"

Eames smiled absently as he shuffled over to Arthur, laying on top of him so he could rest his face next to Arthur's ear, "I love you," He whispered into his ear. Arthur tilted his head, kissing him softly before turning to face him completely. This was Eames. It had to be Eames.

By the time night fell, neither of them had left the room. They spent the entire day cuddling together and doing trivial tasks to pass the time. Eames was already curled up in bed by the time Arthur finished his nightly cleaning routine.

"Darling?" Eames said as he watched Arthur, "How did you take an entire hour to get ready for bed?"

"Cleanliness is next to godliness," Arthur replied, sliding into the sheets.

"You know what else is next to cleanliness? Neurosis," Eames joked, nuzzling his nose against Arthur's cheek.

"Go to sleep Eames," The two entwined their arms together when they slept locked in the other's embrace. Arthur buried his face into Eames's neck, still loving his scent even after all these years. Locked in Eames's embrace, Arthur felt whole.

Which came to be a big surprise in the morning when Arthur awoke with Eames curled up on the bed facing away from him. His arms felt empty without that warm weight against them. Eames was a serene sleeper, barely moving when he rested. Arthur left the bed first without disturbing Eames. He searched the room, trying to find anything out of place. The PASIV device was still strapped into his suitcase without a single vile of somnacin used.

The second item he checked was Eames's phone which was tucked into his leather jacket. Eames rarely used it outside of work so it merely sat in his pocket obsolete except when it was occasionally used as a paperweight. Arthur turned it on and checked the call history. Immediately, a call made to Yusuf late at night caught his attention. It was accompanied by a text message wishing Eames good luck with his next sedative order.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's heart leapt from his chest as he turned to Eames. The forger looked tired, restless but smiled to Arthur nonetheless, "Good morning," He tucked the phone away.

"Is something wrong?"

He wanted to ask Eames of the call. What did he need another sedative for? But as he opened his mouth, he stopped immediately. He couldn't tell if he was talking to Eames or Bane, "No," Arthur said, "Let's go for breakfast,"

The trend continued. In their waking hours, Arthur could tell that Eames was the one in charge. Eames constantly checked the calendar and time to make sure nothing was missing. When he held Arthur, he never tried marking him with his mouth in public. That was one distinct difference Arthur noticed. In that week Eames confirmed to have lost, 'Eames' constantly had his mouth on Arthur's flesh suckling on it till a mark appeared.

However, whenever night fell, Arthur could sense that something in Eames changed. Arthur stayed awake as long as he could, pretending to sleep when he heard Eames crawl out from his embrace with extreme precision, get dressed, and leave the room. Arthur could never stay awake till Eames returned. All he could confirm was that when the sun was up, Eames was back in bed.

One night, Arthur fell asleep early after drinking too much wine. They had only one day left before they had to return to work. Arthur and Eames spent it drinking as much fancy wine they could find and splurging on the most expensive foods in Los Angeles. He woke for the bathroom just at daybreak. The instant he left the bathroom, Eames entered the room with a grocery bag in hand. He wasn't startled at all but he looked to Arthur with definite surprise.

"Arthur, why are you up?"

"Bathroom," Arthur replied, staring at the grocery bag in his hand, "Why are you up?"

"I couldn't sleep," Eames replied, rubbing at his forehead, "I went down to the convenience store. Picked up some coffee for the day," He held up the grocery bag, tapping at the can of instant coffee, "Are you heading back to sleep?" Arthur said nothing, only stared at him, "Arthur, is something wrong?"

Arthur didn't move. He just waited, continuing to stare at Eames patiently. Not once did Eames check the calendar or the clock. _This wasn't Eames at all._ He stepped cautiously to the bed, reaching for the remote upon the bedstead.

"No, I can't get back to sleep," Arthur lied. He was obviously still tired but he couldn't afford sleeping in the presence of Bane.

"Alright, I'm going to sleep then," Eames said, laying down beside Arthur and pulling the blanket over his head. In moments, the forger began snoring softly lost in a light sleep. Arthur noticed his hair was unkempt, free of gel and loose on his head similar to how Tommy's hair once was.

Arthur shut off the TV and reached a hand over to ruffle the short brown locks. Even after all those years, Eames was absolutely beautiful in Arthur's eyes. He was certainly not as handsome as Adrian or charming as Ariadne but Eames had this allure that Arthur couldn't resist.

_I'll help you through this. I'll save you. I promise_.

In the silence of the room and warm heat radiating from Eames, Arthur couldn't help but fall asleep. When he awoke again, Eames was still in bed sleeping blissfully. The digital clock by the TV blinked 1:00 pm. Arthur clicked his tongue and stood from the bed quickly. He was supposed to call Ariadne two hours ago about a new job opportunity he had received over the phone. Arthur walked to the kitchen, opening the cupboard to see two cans of instant coffee: His own brand and the can Eames had bought in the middle of the night. The one Arthur had bought was already running dangerously low. There was no way he could brew a comfortable amount of coffee with that amount but he feared what Bane could've possibly done with the other can.

Regardless, Arthur took the tiny amount left over and brewed an incredibly diluted cup of instant coffee. The instant coffee itself was already hard to stomach. Arthur gagged as he poured the bland beverage down his mouth.

"Darling?" Eames said, stretching in bed, "I'm exhausted. Is there any coffee left over?"

As expected, he doesn't remember buying the coffee at all. It truly was Bane who was conscious this morning, "No coffee," Arthur replied. He didn't tell Eames about Bane. There was no point. The man couldn't control it; it would only make Eames worry more, maybe even run away in fear of hurting Arthur.

Something was wrong. Bane was usually completely discreet. For that first week, Arthur could not notice a single difference between Bane and Eames. Only when he concentrated hard did he see the inconsistencies between the two. Bane was too obvious right now, too sloppy. Arthur picked up the empty can of coffee and almost tossed it into the trash until something caught his eye.

Instant coffee powder was settled at the base of the trash. There wasn't much in there, only a little more than a table-spoonful. Just like the amount that was used to brew his diluted coffee. Just like the amount that was leftover in his can.

"Sweet dreams," Eames's voice cut through the silence as Arthur's vision began to spin violently. The point man's knees gave out from under him and he collapsed into the warm embrace of Eames. His last sight before he passed out was Eames, smiling back at him with cold, empty eyes.

 

Arthur awoke with a violent jolt. His hands were bound behind him with what felt like zip ties. He growled, trying to wrestle his arm free. From where he sat, he appeared to be on a rooftop during a sunny morning. A completely lacking of any other buildings past the railing signalled Arthur that this must've been a dream.

"Arthur, so glad of you to join me," The voice was deep and comically accented. Bane stepped out from the stairs and kneeled to the bound man, "Finally, I can see you in my world,"

"Bane," Arthur whispered. He couldn't hide the terror that birthed from the presence of this man. He had never once envisioned Bane to look like a monster, bald, scarred, masked, and with eyes like a predator. The mask he recognize immediately. It was the trick box that him and Tommy had never figured out how to open. This only confirmed that Bane really was a portion of Eames, not a foreign entity, "Oh god, Tommy,"

Bane chuckled, tracing Arthur's face with his hands, "I knew you'd be able to recognize me," His fingers traced Arthur's lips, dipping down his chin.

Arthur shuddered at the touch. He remembered that day when he awoke with Eames tracing his face. He thought that was Eames, not Bane, "Oh god," Arthur said, jerking away, "How long were you impersonating him?"

"Beloved, I never stopped impersonating Eames since the night he figured out that I stole a week of his life from him," Bane laughed as Arthur screamed in anguish. All of this was planned right from the start. He only needed for Arthur's guard to weaken, making him not even question that his own can of coffee could have been tampered with, "I'm a master forger after all and Eames is but a forgery,"

"Eames is not a forgery!" Arthur shouted, trying to wrestle his arms free. He gasped when Bane pressed his mask against his neck. The cool metal startling him. Now he knew exactly why Bane was so fixated on marking him in reality, in dreams, his mouth could never mark Arthur with the mask on.

His large hands came around Arthur, soothingly stroking him through his suit which Bane had so generously dressed him in, "Beloved, I love you more than Eames ever could. When Eames shut me away in the darkness, your light, your love was the only thing that kept me alive," He nuzzled Arthur's neck affectionately but all Arthur could feel was cold metal grinding against his flesh, "You are my single memory of absolute happiness."

Arthur swallowed, feeling almost too good in Bane's embrace. He couldn't help but feel that the warmth of Bane's arms felt exactly like Eames's, "Is it because of me that you were freed?" He recalled what Eames had said, how he suppressed Tommy's persona deep inside him and how it resurfaced after Arthur's breakdown. He remembered the return of that animalistic rage as Eames gunned down all the projections that wouldn't stop haunting him.

"It was a burst of rage, uncontrollable rage that freed me from my jail. And then the intense feeling of love that made me stay," He held Arthur's face gently, "I don't know what had happened but I knew it must've been Neil. No other person in this world have I ever had some much passion for." His predatory eyes softened. Arthur couldn't help but liken them to Tommy's eyes, "I love you more than Eames ever will,"

"I don't love you," Arthur choked out, "How can I love someone who torments Eames so brutally? You might be Tommy, you might even be the original, but you're also a monster."

Bane held nothing back when he struck Arthur across the face. Arthur felt his body jerked to the floor as pain exploded in his jaw. For a moment, Arthur contemplated shouting at Bane, telling him that Eames would never do something like this. He knew better than that. Eames would never do something like this but a mentally disturbed _Tommy_ was most definitely not above it. He'd seen Tommy lose control and striking Arthur over the face, especially if he really had been mutated into Bane, was definitely something possible for him.

With one hand, Bane lifted Arthur up by his left elbow. Arthur glared at him with all his anger, "What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing," Bane replied, "Not until Mr. Eames arrives,"

"Eames?" Arthur murmured.

The last memory Eames could recall was sobbing into Arthur after Bane had threatened his life. Now he found himself lying on a concrete floor in a completely empty room. How many days had he lost this time? He sat up slowly, stretching weakly as he examined the room. The room was completely bare except for an arrow which was painted on the ground pointing him down a path.

"Oh god no," Eames gasped when he turned down the path. Arthur was laying on the ground, bullet wound right through his forehead. He rushed to his side and scooped him up into his arms, "No, no, this has to be a dream," He reached into his pocket, rubbing the poker chip in his fingers. Fortunately, chips began raining from his hands. He sighed in relief and pocketed the chip.

As he lifted Arthur's dead body, he noticed a message written directly beneath him. _How far are you willing to fall for him?_ Eames could not comprehend at first till he realized that Bane was nowhere to be seen. There were no other PASIV devices so he couldn't have gone down a level in his dreams. No, he went down the dreams another way.

He was in limbo with Arthur. Eames waited no time in taking Arthur's gun and shooting himself clean through the head.

"Bane!" Eames shouted when he awoke on a rooftop. He had to grab Arthur and get out as fast as he could. If his comrades were right, staying in limbo for too long would wreck one's will to leave it. He could only hope Arthur had not stayed there for too long and hope that Bane had not done anything to him during his time there, "Show yourself,"

"Eames!" It was Arthur's voice.

Eames turned to the source immediately, frightened at the sight of Bane dangling Arthur over the ledge with only a grip on his forearm, "Oh god," Eames gasped as he approached them, "Bane, what are you doing?"

"Forcing your hand, Mr. Eames," Bane replied.

"If he dies from the drop, Arthur will only wake up. There's no point in this,"

"Perhaps if there were only normal dreamers in limbo but I am certainly not normal, am I? We've played by your rules long enough, now we play by mine."

Limbo shook violently, the ground crumbling beneath them till the roof and sky was all that remained. Arthur looked down, watching as a swirling darkness formed beneath where he dangled, "What is that?" Arthur gasped, fear creeping up on his voice.

Through the cracks of the roof, Eames could see the mass of pitch blackness forming, "Bane, what the hell is that?"

"Negative subconscious, a prison in which only nothingness exists. There is no matter. There is no time. Anyone who falls in there will have their minds trapped. They will experience an eternity with absolutely nothing." Bane chortled deeply, dangling Arthur further over the edge, "It is the only true way to erase memories, by repressing them in a way that prevents their escape. I'm not sure what it would do to a consciousness, but we're about to test this, aren't we?"

Arthur wanted to struggle but the prospect of negative subconscious deep inside limbo struck fear in him that froze him. He looked to Eames, trying not to plead with his eyes.

Eames stepped forward, "Bane, you don't want to do this. You love him,"

"You're right. I don't," Bane replied, "But this is a necessary evil." He pulled Arthur back just enough so he could rest one foot firmly on the edge of the roof, "Throw yourself in, Mr. Eames, or I'll throw Arthur in," Bane looked confused at Eames's baffled expression, "You don't really expect me to merely seal you away in the subconscious as you did to me, do you? I learn from your mistakes. If I plan on sealing you away, I won't let you have the opportunity to learn of the subconscious or learn how to manifest yourself in reality as I had."

Arthur shook his head violently, "Eames, don't do it! We'll figure this out together," Arthur let out a gasp as Bane dangled him further over the edge. He swallowed the scream that almost slipped out, "Shit, Eames, get out of here. Now!"

Eames could feel the gun on his hip. If only he could shoot Arthur first and save him from limbo. Arthur wanted him to shoot himself, free himself from limbo and leave Arthur at the mercy of Bane. He took the gun in his hand and tossed it over the rooftop.

"No! Eames! Stop!"

Eames stepped past Bane, stepping onto the ledge.

"Damn it Eames, I love you. Don't do this!"

He locked eyes with Arthur, smiling to him, "I love you too," He looked to Bane harshly, "Bane, you better take good care of him or else I swear to god I'll find a way to kill us both,"

Bane nodded, "Duly noted," He was mocking him.

"Eames!" Arthur screamed as the forger stepped over the edge. His body was swallowed by the darkness, leaving nothing behind. Arthur felt his body racked with uncontrollable sobs as he fought to free himself from Bane's grip, "Let go of me you bastard!" He growled as Bane hooked him into a warm embrace. His armored vest chafed at his front, "Don't touch me. I hate you! I'll always hate you!"

Bane grabbed his chin, lifting his head up so he faced him. Arthur was immediately silenced by the sight of Eames staring back at him. At the sight of his pleasant face, Arthur relaxed. No, it wasn't Eames. Arthur could tell from the coldness in his eyes. This Eames was wrong, plotting something; those eyes felt like they were draining him of his thoughts. Before he could even think about renewing his struggling, Bane reached into Arthur's pocket and withdrew first his phone and then two slips of paper: One was an envelope labelled 'From Yusuf, about Eames', the other was the small note where Eames had written his rules for dealing with Bane. He tossed the phone first, glaring at it as it fell. Bane then tossed both papers over the roof and watched them flutter into the black hole. He turned back to Arthur instantaneously, staring into his eyes till Arthur felt as if his body was being crushed.

Arthur awoke. The sheets were soaked in a cold sweat. He panicked, eyes falling onto the clock beside him. It was 11:00 pm. After a moment of hysterical panicking, Arthur paused and took a deep breath in before he realized, _he has no idea what he was panicking about_.

"Arthur?" Eames murmured, waking from the bed and wiping his eyes, "Are you alright?" He touched the damp blanket, "Bloody hell, Arthur, are you okay?"

It was on the tip of his tongue. Arthur knew something was wrong. He guaranteed that something horrible had just happened. However, something was blocking his mind. What just happened? Why was he so scared? A pleasant stroke on the back from Eames calmed him down enough to cuddle back into Eames's strong arms.

"Whatever it was, I'll protect you," Eames whispered into his ear, kissing him on the shoulder.

Arthur nodded gently. Even as he pressed against Eames's flesh, something in the pit of his stomach was screaming at him, telling him he should be cautious. Even with the most intense concentration, Arthur could not remember it at all. _Bane_ , he remembered someone named Bane.

"Eames?"

"Yes, love?"

"Does the name Bane mean anything to you? I can't get it out of my head,"

"Sorry, I've never heard of anyone named Bane before,"

"Ah, I see. Alright then,"

The ominous feeling never left. _What was he missing?_

"Goodnight, Eames,"

"You too,"

Arthur fell back asleep, as planned. Eames would claim that he had a horrible hangover the night before and discard the drugged coffee crystals he had prepared. He replied to Ariadne, telling her that her services was no longer required. After all, Arthur needed him and him alone. Eames smirked into Arthur's hair, continuing to stroke his hair even after he was asleep.

"Beloved,"


	5. Farewell Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Torture and light gore

In the world of dream crime, Arthur and Eames became a household name. The two were inseparably in work and both were devilishly skilled. Arthur still carried the title of 'best point man in the industry' proudly. Eames was still the best forger yet he was so much more. Arthur noticed countless times how quickly Eames moved in the dream world. A mission that would have taken four hours with anyone else could be done in _twenty minutes_ for Eames. By all means, Arthur should have been happy for Eames's prowess. He should have been proud of Eames's immense skill.

All Arthur could feel was frightened of Eames and he didn't know why.

In the beginning, Arthur and Eames settled together in a penthouse in New York. It was a lavish place with an absolutely amazing view of the skyline. Saito had personally recommended this penthouse to them which only made Arthur feel silly for contacting the magnate with such trivial questions. The first day after they had completely furnished the penthouse, Eames and Arthur stayed in bed the entire day. Arthur wasn't sure when he began ending all of his work, celebrations, coffee dates with sex. It must've been a new development thanks to Eames.

During a particularly off week, Arthur had skipped several days of his daily hygiene routine to research an incredibly secured mark. When his current lead led to a dead end, Arthur shut off his laptop and called quits for the day. He stroked his chin and groaned, a thick fuzz was already growing all over his jaw. He wandered into the master bedroom and into the bathroom, reaching for shaving cream so he could rid himself of the itchy bed.

"Darling," Eames cooed, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist, "Let's go to bed. It has been a long day," He ground his hips against Arthur's backside, the heat through his pants was obscene.

"Eames, I'm exhausted. I just want to sleep after I shave," Arthur replied, pushing Eames away with one hand and grabbing the razor with another, "Another time," Arthur was never much of a romantic when he was tired. Eames on the other hand was almost always a romantic even in some of the most dire situations possible.

When Eames didn't relent, when he began slipping his hands into Arthur's shirt and sweat pants, Arthur jerked away and shoved his hands back, "Eames, I mean it. Stop," He said, sternly.

And was promptly rewarded by an open hand slap to the face.

Arthur was stunned, head twisted to the side and right cheek stinging with pain. Eames had never hit him before. Arthur could not say a word. The forger left the bedroom altogether and went to sleep on the couch. _What the hell just happened?_ The next morning only made everything even more bizarre.

As Arthur prepared his coffee, Eames swept by and picked up a bagel from the counter, "Sorry about last night," He said, flatly, casually, before taking the bagel towards his office as he usually did every morning. Arthur was even more perplexed. That wasn't something as trivial as apologizing for stepping on someone's toe. Eames _slapped him for denying sex_. How could he have treated that with such dismissal?

Arthur wanted to ignore this. Eames had been having an equally rough day. However, that nagging feeling that he was missing something important kept nipping at the back of his head. What was he missing? Arthur still couldn't figure it out.

The issue only escalated when they had arranged to meet Ariadne so she could assist them on their current mark. The young architect had blossomed into a highly versatile extractor in a matter of months thanks to coaching from Miles and Cobb. Arthur invited her to the penthouse, setting up a chalkboard and work station for her in the living room. Whenever Eames passed by, walking back and forth from the kitchen to his office, Arthur couldn't help but see a tinge of jealousy in his expression.

"Ariadne! It's been so long!" Arthur greeted as he opened the door for her.

Ariadne greeted him with a hug, "Arthur, I hope you've been doing well. How's Eames?"

"Peachy," Eames said, leaning on the doorframe watching them, "Let's get to work then, shall we?" His words weren't pleasant at all despite the glee in his expression.

From there, Arthur and Ariadne began running through their plans in the living room. Eames generally stayed out of the technicalities of the plan; he preferred dealing with the details related to the dream. This only made it painfully awkward as Eames sat by the living room listening to them. Ariadne was obviously sensing something dangerous. She constantly turned to Eames, trying to hook him into their conversation only for him to shoot her a smile and nothing more.

When lunch came, Ariadne opted to go out and grab takeout for all of them. Arthur had offered first but Eames suggested Ariadne to go so she could familiarize herself with the surroundings. Arthur would have protested had it not been for the hostile aura Eames was giving off. There was no way he was leaving Ariadne alone with Eames.

When Ariadne had left, Arthur immediately turned his attention to Eames, "What the hell was that?"

"What, darling?"

"Stop harassing Ariadne. She's here to help us. She doesn't need you distracting her,"

"No, I'm just here to keep watch,"

"Keep watch of what?"

Eames grabbed Arthur's neck suddenly, startling Arthur too much to fight back. With his sudden burst of rage, Eames pushed Arthur against a wall and pinned him there by his neck, "To keep watch over you, darling," The pet name sounded venomous in his mouth, "Always flirting with Ariadne. Using any opportunity you can to work with her,"

Arthur choked, smacking at Eames's hand with his palm, "Eames," He choked out, "What are you talking about? She's a great extractor and architect. She'd be an asset to anyone," This only prompted Eames to squeeze harder on his neck. Arthur's grip became desperate on Eames's arm.

"Excuses," He struck the wall beside Arthur's head with his palm. The resulting thud surprised Arthur and caused a frightened gasp to leave his constricted throat, "I'm watching you, Arthur," With that, he released Arthur and returned to his office.

When Ariadne returned with the takeout, Eames took it with a poisonous smile before returning to the office. Arthur took his meal from Ariadne, eyes not leaving Eames's office.

"Is he feeling alright?" Ariadne asked. The young architect was far more familiar with the friendly, snarky Eames from the inception job.

Arthur tore his eyes away, returning to the chalkboard, "I'm sure it's nothing,"  

The next time the two met, Ariadne recommended a quaint coffee shop at night to run through the preliminary planning. Arthur agreed, hoping if Ariadne was out of Eames's sight, that would quell his growing temper. That night, when Arthur returned with a satchel of briefing notes, he barely had time to remove his shoes before he was grabbed and shoved right against the wall.

"Eames!" Arthur shouted, recognizing the aftershave of his assailant instantly.

Eames had him pinned right to the wall with his entire body, hot and threatening. His hands were searching Arthur's body violently, gripping into him too hard all over. He forced Arthur into a powerful kiss, crushing their lips together. Wrestling one arm away, Arthur first made for the light switch so he could at least see through the darkness of their apartment. Eames slammed the palm of his hand down on his wrist sending a blunt pain up his arm. He then laced their fingers together, pulling him away from the switch.

With difficulty, Arthur freed his lips and twisted his face away. Eames merely took to nibbling on the shell of his ear, grinding at the soft flesh till Arthur cried out, "Shit, Eames! What the hell are you doing?" He stamped down on Eames's foot, hoping to deter him with pain. Eames responded with a fist to his stomach. Arthur doubled over, collapsing into Eames's shoulder.

The forger wrapped his arms around the thinner man, hauling him up over his shoulder and tossing him onto the bed roughly. Arthur rolled from the center, almost falling to the ground before Eames clutched his leg firmly and jerked him back. Arthur grappled with the sheets, trying to find something to grip onto and resist Eames's violent pull. His hands fell upon the lamp chain, jerking it down and illuminating the room. He twisted around and froze in fear at the pure animalistic rage bubbling in Eames's body.

"Where were you tonight?" He hissed, pinning Arthur down with all his weight, "I'll never let Ariadne have you,"

Arthur shook his head till Eames gripped his chin and forced him still, "Are you insane?" Arthur shouted, struggling under his weight, "We were going over our plan. Since you were so hostile last time, we decided to do the briefing elsewhere," Arthur gasped as he felt Eames bury his face into his neck, inhaling before trailing down over his chest. He was checking his scent. Arthur promptly delivered a swift kick to his crotch and scrambled back, violated, "What the hell, Eames!"

"Beloved," Eames's voice was gruff and breathy. He lunged at Arthur, restraining him to the bed with his weight and strength, "I won't ever let them have you. You belong to me and only me," His whispered into his ear.

That was it. Eames stopped and shut his eyes, falling asleep leaving Arthur laying there trapped and dumbfounded. Eames's embrace was once warm and protective. Now it was just cold and frightening. Arthur fought through his flight-from-danger instinct and forced himself to sleep. And when he awoke, still wrapped tightly in Eames's arms, Eames greeted him with the gentlest of smiles and softest of kisses before walking to the bathroom.

 

"I don't understand what's going on with him," Arthur said, sitting at a fancy, low-key bar while his long-time friend-now-bar-mistress Wendy served him a drink, "He's tearing out my throat one second and then cuddling up to me like nothing happened," Wendy's hand came forward, tracing the bruise that had formed near his right eye, "Ouch, hey, careful,"

"Sorry Neil," Wendy murmured, "That looks really bad,"

Arthur scoffed, taking a sip of his tequila, "You haven't seen half of it. It's like he's getting worse and worse. He almost broke my arm for going to visit Cobb without him. Obviously when he's acting like this, I'm not going to bring him near Cobb and his children!" He huffed before finishing off his drink, sliding the glass back to Wendy, "Anyway, enough about me. How have you been?"

"Same old, as usual," Wendy replied, wiping down the counter, "This bar's been getting great business especially during the recession. When the owner first sold it to me, I thought it'd be the biggest mistake in my life,"

"If it makes you feel better, I thought the same,"

"Oh shush you," Wendy snapped playfully, slapping him on the arm, "Hey, it's thanks to this bar that you got to see Eames at Sparta. Remember that? What did he used to call himself, Tommy Connolly?"

"Conlon," Arthur corrected, slouching over on the counter, "And of course I remember. When we met again, I bought you an apartment for your birthday as thank you," Arthur tucked his head into his arms, the small smile he had slowly fading, "Back then, I thought I'd never see Tommy again. Then you got those tickets for me. And then ten years later, against all odds, he was in my life again. It was destiny, definitely destiny." A soft hand ruffling his hair soothed his brewing sadness, "And now that I finally have him, he's nothing I expected. How did this happen?"

Wendy shrugged, still stroking his hair, "Neil, if he's hurting you, you can't be with him. As your best friend, it's my duty to pull you away before it gets worse,"

"I can't, Wendy," Arthur whispered into his arms, "I loved him for so long. I need him,"

"Don't make me bring Preston into this," Wendy said, "You look awful. And that bruise on your face is only just short of a concussion," She wiped down a further counter, throwing her words over a shoulder, "Trust me, bar fights happen all the time. I see more than enough,"

Arthur shook his head slowly, face still nestled in the sleeves of his own suit, "It's hard. I can't just stop loving him after all this time," He sat up, wiping the exhaustion from his face, "I just don't understand. We shared everything in our lives. How did he turn out to be like this?"

"Lots of people act differently when they're in a relationship,"

"No, not Eames. Eames hid nothing from me unless he knew it would hurt me," Arthur said, "Like that time," He started, only to draw an absolute blank. He sat there for a moment, pondering. Nothing, all he could manage was a complete blank slate.

Wendy cocked her head, waiting for a response, "Neil?" She waved her hand in front of his face playfully. Arthur still hadn't responded, his mind still producing a blank, "You're starting to freak me out,"

"Wait, it's coming to me," Arthur replied, still rummaging through his memories but producing absolutely nothing, "He hid something to protect me. It was something important,"

"It's going to have to wait. The crowd's starting to come in. How about we chat again next time?" Wendy said, greeting the customers who flooded in with a pleasant, sexy smile, "It was good to see you again. I'm glad you're staying in New York," She reached over the counter, hugging him tightly. Arthur caught a whiff of the expensive French perfume she wore.

"Definitely a gift from Eric, right, the perfume?"

"Of course. That man knows his perfume. Hal on the other hand, terrible sense of smell,"

Arthur half-smiled, standing up and fixing his suit, "Anyway, it was good to see you too."

"Take my words to heart, Neil, if he's hurting you, don't force yourself to stay,"

"I got it, I got it," He said, waving to her as he left the bar.

 

"How dare you," Eames hissed, slapping Arthur hard on the face while he straddled his chest and pinned his arms down with his knees. One after another, Eames slapped him violently, alternating hands to strike a different cheek each time.

Arthur grunted as each slap came down. Eames was strong, as strong as he'd always been. Each slap from him felt like a metal glove smacking at his face. He fought the urge to scream. Arthur had endured more pain than this but the sight of Eames's rage always weakened his resolve. He struggled beneath Eames like a flopping fish. His limbs twisting and flailing but never enough to break out of his iron grip.

"I was out with a friend," A slap interrupted Arthur's confession, "She runs a bar," Another slap, "It's Wendy! Don't you remember her?" The final slap was the hardest, interrupting him midway causing him to bite through his tongue. Arthur cried out, spitting blood onto the sheets.

With his hands on either side of Arthur's head, caging him in, Eames leaned forward and pressed his lips to Arthur's as he talked, "Your breath smells like tequila. You smell like perfume. And someone's been playing around with your hair. That's certainly not something a 'friend' would do,"

"She was ruffling my hair. Goddamn it Eames, I've known her since we were children! She's my closest friend," Eames pulled away fast before bringing another powerful slap down, silencing Arthur. He could feel the swelling on either side of his cheeks, impeding his speech, "Get off me," Arthur gasped. There was no reason to continuing trying to persuade Eames. He wasn't ever going to listen.

"I should just bind you to this bed. You don't need anyone else, just me," Eames said in a low, husky hiss, "If I catch you in the arms of someone else, I'll kill them," He rolled off Arthur, eyes remaining locked to him as he entered the bathroom.

Arthur rolled onto his stomach, taking deep breaths as he pressed a hand to his heavily swelling cheek. His fingers felt white-hot to the touch and pain flared as his tongue lashed at the cheeks from inside his mouth. He groaned, curling into himself, and screamed shortly after when cold ointment was pressed to his face. Eames was right there, beside him, rolling Arthur onto his back as he applied soothing ointment to his cheeks.

"Don't move, it'll sting a bit over the open cuts but it'll help bring the swelling down," His voice was painfully sincere.

This was driving him mad. Arthur slapped Eames's hands away, ointment splattering onto the walls. He glared at him with absolute bewilderment before rushing out of their room and locking himself in his own office. He stayed leaning against the door, listening to Eames's footsteps follow him to the door, wait, before returning to the bedroom. When he left, Arthur relaxed immediately, stumbling over to his desk and sitting down on the leather, plush chair. It was uncomfortable and forced him to sleep in an awkward hunched position over his desk but this was the first night in a long time that Arthur felt safe as he slept.

From that night on, Arthur began ignoring Eames even when he was being friendly. Even when they were running simulations on the PASIV, Arthur kept all of their conversations professional. For the actual job, Ariadne was invited back, this time with Cobb in tow to keep an eye on Eames. He had come as a personal request from Arthur to protect Ariadne should Eames lose control. Their mark entered, a CEO who had been going through intense trauma and believed they would be there to free his mind from stress. In actuality, they had been paid to steal the latest designs and products to be sold.

The job was simple, required at most three people. Cobb tagged along, sitting beside Ariadne and plugging the IV into his arm. Eames looked over to the man, questioning his reason for being here.

"Arthur, I certainly don't think Ariadne needs a babysitter at this point of her career,"

"Cobb's here to babysit you, not Ariadne," Arthur said, cold, dark, glaring at Eames. He reached forward, starting the PASIV. Everyone could feel the intense glower Eames gave Arthur. The sound of his fist gripping the arm rest was loud enough to overpower the whirring of the PASIV.

Moments later, they awoke terrified. The mark's subconscious was an absolute nightmare. If the projections were anything to judge by, the mark had watched his best friend get violently tortured by mindless thugs after accidentally heading down the wrong alley. Cobb tore the IV from his arm, taking deep breaths as he fought the urge to vomit. Ariadne broke down into tears, quickly recovering and leaving the room. She exited to the balcony, taking in large breaths of fresh air. Arthur kept his eyes shut even when he awoke, taking deep breaths to calm his heart. Eames was hunched over the mark, feeling for his pulse to make sure he was still alright.

Only three of the four were testing their totems fervently. Arthur looked to Eames, despite a hastened breath and fear-filled eyes, did not even have his poker chip in hand, "Eames, where's your totem?"

"Excuse me, beloved?"

The shock of Eames's words easily overrode the shock from the nightmare they all just endured. Ariadne and Cobb left with the mark, trying to salvage as much of their fragmented extraction as they could. Arthur and Eames returned to the penthouse. Arthur rushed to his office without a word, locking the door and sitting straight down into his chair. He knew he should have been writing up a report but all he could think about was Eames. _He didn't know what a totem was_. That was impossible.

The second telltale sign came a few weeks later at sunset when Arthur received a message from Yusuf. The chemist had a hand in all drug distributions used for extractions but not once had Arthur received a message from him till now. It was odd but Arthur dismissed it. Yusuf was a busy man; it was only reasonable.

"Eames has been taking on some very dangerous jobs. Be careful, okay? I don't know if he completely cured his problem yet," Arthur read aloud. Eames had began running solo jobs, coming home late at night and falling asleep almost instantly when he came in. Arthur couldn't help but notice a scent of metal and blood on him occasionally but dismissed it as a bar fight. Every morning, Eames would talk about the mission, what he had to do, what had happened but Arthur couldn't help but think something was missing in his stories like a parent censoring a violent story for their child.

But firstly, something else caught his attention that he had to address. He texted back: _Cured what problem?_

Before he could send the message, Eames hooked an arm around his neck and squeezed tight, choking him in a headlock. Arthur gurgled his scream and dropped the phone, fighting against Eames's grip as he hauled him up by his neck and threw him against the wall. Not a slap this time but a full-force punch came at Arthur's face. The force of the strike dazed him and collapsing against the wall nearly knocked him out. He collapsed to the ground, vision swimming and body wracked in tremors. Through swaying shapes, Arthur could make out Eames reaching for his phone and deleting the message.

He shut his eyes, laying on the ground till his mind and body steadied. He could feel Eames's footsteps coming towards him, angry. Arthur didn't wait. He forced himself to his feet, grabbed the keys from the counter, and ran out of the apartment. Even though dizziness overtook him as he ran down the hallway, Arthur didn't stop. He'd rather faint in the elevator from light-headedness than let Eames catch up with him.

There was only one place he could go. He went back to Wendy's bar. Luckily, it was still early so the bar was relatively empty. The janitor, the other bartender, and Wendy were all staggered at the sight of Arthur dishevelled with a bleeding lip from where Eames had punched him. Immediately, they came to his side and steadied him over a stool by the bar.

"Holy shit Neil," Wendy murmured, reaching forward to wipe his lip, "I told you to stay away from him. He's going to kill you one day," When the lip wound was cleaned, she turned to the horrible bruise on the corner of his mouth blooming over his cheek, "Goddamn it," She said, retrieving ointment from the first aid kit and applying it gently, "Tell me if it hurts,"

"There's something wrong with Eames,"

"No shit, Neil," Wendy replied, still applying the ointment.

"No, not that. He doesn't remember things, crucial things. And he's hiding something big from me," Arthur said, hissing a little when the ointment touched an open cut on his face, "There's no way he shouldn't know what a totem is. And Yusuf, he said Eames had a 'problem he had cured'. I've never heard of that," Once again, Arthur began drawing blanks when he reached into his memory.

Wendy touched Arthur's face gently, feeling over old bruises that had began to heal, "You can't go on like this. You really can't," She said, putting ointment lightly on the healing wounds.

"I can't leave him,"

"Neil, he's hurting you!"

" I know he isn't like this. Something has happened to him, I know it. God, Wendy, I love him. I can't just leave him like this."

Wendy could only stare at him, worried, "Oh Neil," She murmured, hugging him tightly, pushing the first aid kit aside, "God, and I used to think you had a black hole for a heart,"

_Black hole_

_We've played by your rules long enough, now we play by mine_

_Negative Subconscious_

_Eames!_

Arthur backed away from Wendy's grasp, eyes wide. All he could see was a pitch black vortex while he was suspended over it by an iron grip on his elbow. Eames was there. Eames was over the ledge, and then he fell. Something followed him, two pieces of paper, one with Eames's illegible writing, the other labelled from Yusuf.

"Neil?" Wendy said, shaking him gently, waking him from the daze.

Arthur held his forehead, accidentally smearing the ointment. Those memories were blurry, unfocused. He tried his best to hang onto them. He didn't know what they were but he could feel that they were crucial for figuring out what he was missing.

"Arthur, beloved, so this is 'Wendy',"

Arthur could feel the intense hatred coming from Wendy glaring at Eames. She kept her arms around Arthur, holding him protectively, "Stay the fuck away from him, you monster," Wendy barked.

"That's hardly a nice thing to say. It's been so long since we met. Still living in New York, all these years?" Eames said in a mocking tone. His stance was predatory; if Arthur didn't stop him now, he'd definitely hurt Wendy.

Arthur broke out from Wendy's grasp and placed his hands onto Eames's shoulders, separating the two, "That's enough. Come on, let's go home,"

"Neil!"

"Neil?" Eames said, looking at her as he placed his hands possessively over Arthur's hips, "Rule number one of the dream business, beloved, disconnect all ties to your former life,"

Arthur pushed his hands away from his hips. The touch only made him gag, "Wendy is special. She's my closest friend, I told you. I'd never leave her behind,"

"Your soul mate, as I recall," Eames said, eyes narrowing as he took Arthur's wrist in a bone-snapping grip, "You smell like her perfume already. You cheating shrew," With his venomous words, Eames twisted Arthur's arm behind his back, twisting until Arthur cried out in pain. In that uncomfortable position, Eames walked Arthur towards the door.

Wendy stepped in front of Eames, slapping his clear across the face, "Let him go! Neil is not your plaything!"

When Eames struck Wendy, Arthur felt his heart shatter to pieces. Wendy fell to the floor, spitting out blood and clutching her throbbing cheek. The janitor and bartender ran to her side immediately, checking for any concussions she might've suffered. Her lip piercing was torn clear through.

Arthur thrashed violently, rage preventing him from feeling the pain in his arm, "Let go of me you bastard!" The more he fought his grasp, the harder Eames held on. He tried to cover Arthur's mouth, muffling his speech but Arthur merely bit at his hand and tore his mouth away from him, "Don't touch me. I hate you!" The words were disturbingly familiar in Arthur's mouth. From the look of sudden melancholy on Eames's face, it must have felt familiar to him as well.

Eames dragged Arthur back to their apartment still keeping a vice grip on him. When they entered the apartment, Eames threw him against the kitchen counter, pinning him to the cold surface as his hands began tearing off his clothes. He had gotten his waistcoat and dress shirt halfway done before Arthur kicked him hard in the stomach and struggled away. He locked himself in his office, his safe haven, and collapsed on the floor against the desk.

 Arthur was lost. He didn't understand. Nothing made sense. He loved Eames for years and when he finally had him, all he could do was hate him. He could endure pain but he'd never forgive him for striking Wendy. And those flashes of memory, the black hole, what did it all mean? There was definitely something missing. He had only one lead.

Yusuf, he needed to find Yusuf.

Arthur took his phone from the desk. He knew Cobb or Ariadne must've had his number. He was a versatile man and always good to have on hold. He dropped his phone at the sound of scratching, metal scratching. The doorknob jiggled as the scratching continue. _No fucking way_.

The lock clicked open, Eames kicked the door open and approached Arthur. Arthur scrambled to his feet, trying to get away only to be shoved and pinned over his desk. His laptop and papers clattered to the floor now replaced by Eames's bulk. Arthur fought with all his strength, punching at Eames's chest when he could and scratching when all his strength was gone. Eames continued to undress him, biting into his neck and lapping at the soft flesh. One hand pinned down his right wrist while the other gripped at Arthur's hair, forcing his head back to expose his neck.

"Eames, Eames," Arthur begged kicking his feet at Eames only to have them spread far apart till they were useless in combat, "Don't do this. Eames! No!"

He never stopped begging, even when he was breathless and throbbing from pain that bloomed from his midsection. Eames, still fully dressed, tucked away his softening erection and left the office, slamming the door behind him leaving Arthur laying on the desk, naked, hysterical, and shuddering from the pain of the intense rape. He tried shifting his hips so the edge of the desk no longer dug into the abused flesh but a sudden shock of pain deterred him.

His head fell to the side, too tired to stay up. His trembling hand traced the desk, finding the tiny red die lost amongst the clutter. He tossed it several times, finally losing himself to his tears when the result came up the same over and over again. _Not a dream_.

  

The next few moments were hazy. Arthur found himself surrounded by warmth and softness. The edge of a silk comforter brushing against his cheek. He shuffled in bed, rolling around till he found himself pressed against something warm, something solid. His eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the brightness of the room. A gentle hand stroked down his cheek.

"Beloved," A voice whispered, pressing plush lips to his forehead, "Good morning,"

The gentle touch, the soothing voice, and suddenly everything came back to him.

Arthur tore himself out of bed, tumbling to the floor when a sharp pain shot through his backside, "Shit," He grunted as he got up slowly. He noticed that he was dressed in fresh pajama bottoms and his body wasn't sticky from the debauchery of last night.

"Arthur, come back to bed, you're hurt,"

"Fuck you!" Arthur hissed, using the wall to stand and glaring at Eames as he sat up from the bed, "How can you treat this like nothing happened? I've been putting up with your shit for a long time. But hitting Wendy and..." He didn't want to repeat what happened last night. Eames understood, "It's over,"

He knew a fight was coming. There was no way Eames could restrain his violence at that. A few punches, maybe a choke, Arthur could take the pain and walk away. What Arthur hadn't expected was the level of his brutality. In a split second, Eames had Arthur pressed with his face to the bed, locking his right arm in a vice grip, forcing the shoulder to bend at a disturbingly awkward level. Arthur screamed into the mattress, clawing at the blanket desperately.

"Eames, stop..." Arthur begged, hissing through the pain, "My arm's going to snap!" He screamed desperately. He despised the weakness in his voice.

Eames shook his head, using his weight to bend it back further, "Beloved, you belong to me. You'll always be mine, forever. You will leave only when I say you can leave."

The poison that Eames spat with each word drove Arthur insane. This Eames was contradictory to every shade of Eames Arthur knew. Tommy Conlon, aloof, lonely, and bad-tempered, never once lifted a fist at Neil and let the man he loved go while he stewed in his own sadness. Arthur, whom Eames had every right to hate for erasing Neil, was always Eames's highest priority. Who was this monster before him who'd use force to suppress Arthur's will?

"You're not Eames," Arthur choked out. He let out a blood-curdling scream as Eames finally popped his shoulder. The crunch sounded awful like crushing a handful of walnuts under a boot. Arthur stayed on the bed, crying out in pain and curling up to get the pressure off his popped shoulder.

A weight lifted from the bed. Eames had left the bed and gotten dressed leaving Arthur curled up on the bed, heaving large breaths of air to help quell the intense pain. His face remained pressed to the mattress, too twisted in pain to lift, "Beloved, I am not punishing you. I am merely showing you the error of your ways," Arthur gagged as Eames's hand stroked his trembling back like a soothing touch to a wounded cat. Arthur merely twisted his face upward, glaring at the forger even as he exited the room.

Eames left shortly after, most likely to another dangerous job Yusuf had mentioned.

 _Yusuf_.

After the sharpest pain subsided, Arthur forced himself up and got himself dressed. It was a painful, gruelling procedure but Arthur used the thought of Eames returning to fight through the pain. He had to fight the tears that threatened to build in his eyes. To think that Neil's hero was now his greatest antagonist made his heart burn with sadness. He picked up several important items: His laptop, his phone, his contact books. As soon as he could, Arthur left the penthouse with cell phone in hand.

Yusuf was his first contact. If he remembered nothing else from those memory flashes, Arthur made sure he engraved the name upon the letter tossed into the black hole into his mind. Before his investigation began, he found Wendy in the bar and begged for her forgiveness. In return, she fixed up his arm and sent him on his way. There was a feeling in her eyes that said that she had yet to forgive Arthur, like a mother who would always forgive their child but hold their past mistakes to them.

"No broken bones," Wendy said, setting his arm in place with bandages, "You're lucky,"

"Thanks," Arthur said, excluding the rape from what Eames had done, "You're right. I'm sorry. I should've left," He took her hand gently, "Wendy. For the next few weeks, stay away from the bar. Get someone else to run it for you until I call you and tell you it's safe,"

Wendy nodded, fixing Arthur's jacket after she had finished setting his shoulder in place, "Neil, please be careful. I'm begging you,"

Arthur smiled briefly, Neil's mischievousness flashing over his face, "Some things never change," He shot over his shoulder before he left her house. Wendy smiled, just like the young woman who used to look out for wildcard Neil McCormick. It was the least he could do to put Wendy's mind at ease. His mind, on the other hand, was scrambled and sizzling frantically.

Arthur found himself on the roof of a miscellaneous apartment complex. He needed a place that he could guarantee Eames would never check. From there, he set up his laptop and internet connection, contacting Yusuf over an online chat.

"Eames? I told you to call me only when its past 7 pm. It's 12 am in the morning here right now!" Yusuf shouted over the chat.

"Um, no, this is Arthur,"

There was a pause.

"Ah, so you must've gotten that message about Eames taking dangerous jobs,"

"Yeah, what's with that actually? I haven't heard anything about it,"

"Oh, Eames has just been asking me to arrange some high-risk, high-return clients for him. He's made quite a name for himself as a forger and, uh, huh,"

"What?"

"He told me not to tell you,"

"I think I deserve to know,"

"I guess, but don't think too poorly of him," Really, Arthur couldn't possibly think any less of Eames at this moment, "He's been taking jobs in as an _assassin_ ," Arthur was dead silent, absolutely stunned. He knew Eames. The forger could never have the heart to kill anyone.

No, that's not true. His little league coach, littered with bullet holes laying in a lawn chair, came to mind. Only the Eames overcome by pure rage could kill just as only the Eames overcome by pure rage could rape and violently beat Arthur.

"He told me he fixed that problem with Bane with those new sedatives I sent him. I guess it's starting to bleed through again,"

"Bane?"

This time, it was Yusuf's turn to be baffled, "That monster in his subconscious? Eames told me he called it Bane. I said the name sounded ridiculous,"

"What are you talking about?"

"Arthur, you're freaking me out. Remember, after the inception job, I told you about Bane,"

"No you didn't,"

"Holy shit,"

"Yusuf? What's wrong? What happened?"

"Arthur, I need you to run through everything that happened right after Fischer's inception. Do not leave out a single detail,"  

Arthur sat back in the chair, playing through his memories, "I remember...waking from the plane, saying goodbye to Ariadne at the luggage checkout. I remember walking Cobb down the airport, meeting Miles. And then," The presence of a blank in his memory was become more and more frightening, "I went to look for Eames's hotel. And then I went to him, and we had sex," He wanted to be thorough, as Yusuf said.

"And that's exactly what you remember?"

"Yes,"

"Alright then, what do you remember about Eames prior to the inception job?"

He leaned back, cycling through his memories. He remembered being upset. Eames did something to him that made him hate himself. That was why he distanced himself from Eames for a while, "I was heartbroken," For the life of him, he could not remember why he was heartbroken, "But, I don't know why," He knew he wasn't imagining this. He could clearly remember telling Ariadne over dinner about how much Eames had hurt him. He could still hear the words she said to him ' _He broke your heart'_.

"Arthur, the reason you were heartbroken was because you called Eames one day and he spent nearly three hours mocking you and telling you how much he hated you,"

_His phone plummeting into the shadowy depths of the black hole_

"Why? Eames would never do that."

"That wasn't Eames. It was Bane," There was a shuffle in the back; Yusuf was readying himself for a long talk, "A long time ago, Eames's temper and bursts of violence was interfering with his job so he sealed his anger away deep in his mind. In a sense, he made himself a permanent forgery: A cool, calm Londoner Eames the forger,"

"Repressing a persona?"

"That's what he hoped for, repressing his ill-tempered former self. But we knew repression doesn't work like that," Arthur swallowed, remembering Brian Lackey, "That sealed persona gained a consciousness. On top of that, that sealed persona spent millennia in his subconscious, learning how to do things in dreams that we could never even think of,"

_Negative sub consciousness, the only true way to remove memories_

"When the persona came to be, it tormented Eames. It tortured him. He never told me the specifics of what he did but when he was in my lab checking up on Bane, I could hear him talking in his sleep. Something about forcing Eames to forge you so Bane could have his way with you,"

Arthur gagged, pulling away from the laptop, "Why didn't he tell me? I could've helped him."

"He was afraid Bane would hurt you. Eames said Bane is a radical amplification of himself so Eames's love for you became obsession for Bane,"

"Oh god, Eames," Arthur choked, resting his head into his palms, "Damn it. I should've known. Eames would never act like this,"

"And I believe this is verbatim what I told you at the airport,"

_The letter with Yusuf's name fluttering away_

Arthur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "There's something else I'm missing," There was one more slip of paper with Eames's awful writing scrawled all over it, "Eames told me something. But, god, I can't remember it at all," Another blank drew in his mind.

"Arthur, a few months ago, I provided Eames with enough sedation for three levels. Enough to produce limbo, as Eames requested, because he figured out a way to combat Bane in limbo." Yusuf's voice was shaky.

Immediately Arthur shut his eyes and recounted everything that happened a few months ago. It was the happiest time of his life, finally being in the arms of the man he loved for years. Everything stood out for him, everything was so perfect. Except for one moment, Arthur remembers, Eames had went out to buy coffee at daybreak. Arthur recalled brewing coffee, drinking it, and then waking up.

"I think I know when that happened," Arthur said, "There was this one time I caught Eames buying coffee at daybreak. It was so odd, so out of place. And then I remember drinking the coffee and waking again in bed,"

There was another pause, "That wasn't Eames who ordered the sedatives, was it?"

"Are you saying it was 'Bane'?"

"He ordered the drugs, he sedated you, and then he erased your memories so you wouldn't know who Bane was,"

Arthur stared blankly at the screen. He could hardly believe it yet it made too much sense. His memories of reality may have been erased but the remnants of the memories he had of limbo were more than enough for him to piece together, "No, that's not all he did. That's not all he erased," _That's not all he tossed into the black hole_.

_"EAMES!"_

 Yusuf came to the realization instantaneously, "Arthur, you can't be serious,"

"Yusuf, get to New York as soon as you can. Get us an extractor, someone we can trust since Cobb's retired. And Ariadne, contact Ariadne. She should be doing some architecture work or extractor training somewhere in New York. I'll find a secure meeting place for all of us,"

"Got it,"

Arthur shut his laptop and quickly packed up all his belongings. Indignant rage and heartbreak was tearing through him in endless waves. Amongst the raging emotions, Arthur couldn't help but feel relieved. The Eames he believed in and cherished really was as he always imagined. Neil's hero was not tarnished. That relief was quickly brushed away with a sudden wave of disgust. The happiest moments of his life weren't shared with Eames but with _Bane_ masquerading him flawlessly. When Eames was free again, Arthur swore he'd relive those experiences with him just so he could share in his happiness.

_If Eames was free again..._

 

Arthur secured an abandoned factory far in the outskirts of New York. It was built upon the site of an abandoned farm and was located by a small rural town that couldn't care less about suspicious, suited people wandering around an abandoned area. He sent the coordinates securely to Ariadne, having her send to the rest of the team in case Eames had been tracing his emails. With a little help from Cobb, Arthur had prepared a small dream lab inside the factory complete with chemicals lab and drawing boards.

It was all a waiting game now, hoping that all of his team could arrive safely. Arthur caught sight of a black car which pulled up to the factory. It was night so the shroud of darkness concealed this figure. It was definitely male but far too lean to be Yusuf. It could have been their extractor but Arthur couldn't take the chance. He took his gun from the table, sidling up against the wall and waiting for the man to enter.

A text message alerted him. He left from his hiding spot and checked the number, "Adrian?"

"Arthur, it has been a while," He'd recognize that smooth tone anywhere. Still as sly and disastrously fashionable as ever, Adrian sauntered into the room, playing with the cap of a golden lighter in his hand.

Arthur could have laughed at the irony in this moment, "I thought you didn't associate yourself with criminals,"

"Things change, times change, paychecks change," Adrian said with a coy smirk. Arthur chuckled, the dimples on his cheeks looking so prominent on his bruised face. With a gentle hand, Adrian reached forward and touched the faded bruise on Arthur's temple. The smile on his face immediately died, watching shakily at Adrian's hand, "Did he do this to you?"

Arthur batted his hand away, stepping around Adrian and towards a desk so he could distract himself with papers, "It's a long story. I'll explain when Yusuf and Ariadne get here. Anyway, so, you got a totem?" Arthur said, turning to look at the shining lighter in his hand.

A chortle came from Adrian as he continued to play with the cap, "Decided to do so after a few solo jobs. You like?" He lifted the lighter, showing off the dolphins and grapevines engraved upon it.

"Fits you, eccentric as ever,"

"Oh Arthur, you wound me with your cold, cold words,"

"Didn't know you knew who Adrian was," Yusuf commented as he entered the room, "Ariadne's just outside. She's bringing in architect equipment," He reached forward, shaking Adrian's hand, "Adrian, good to see you again. How's chemist work going?"

Adrian shrugged, turning to Arthur who looked on with puzzlement, "I've been dabbling with chemist work. Not much advancement but I've made some interesting discoveries," His head perked as Ariadne entered the room, "And who's this lovely lady?" He said, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

"Oh my," Ariadne commented, pulling her hand away gently, "This is a huge improvement from Cobb,"

"Cobb? You're still working with that stick in the mud?" Adrian said, looking to Arthur.

"He retired, but yes, I used to work with him," Arthur said, "Anyway, let's get started. We have no time to lose," He walked to the whiteboard, wiping it once again to make sure it was perfectly clean before they start.

Yusuf looked to Adrian for a second, watching him as he took a seat on a plush chair and rolled the lighter around in his fingers, "You remind me of someone," He said before taking a seat on the lawn chair in the center.

There was a lot of briefing to be done. On top of that, there was a lot of convincing and disbelief coming from Ariadne and Adrian. Neither had known Eames well enough to understand what was going on. Adrian was the most sceptical, often shooting glances to Ariadne to check if she shared in his scepticism.

"How can you be sure it's a split personality? Perhaps he had always been like this," Adrian queried, reclining in his chair, "He could have been hiding it all this time. He's a master forger after all,"

"I can vouch for this," Yusuf said, raising his hand and sitting up in his swivel chair, "I watched Eames deteriorate for a year. He asked me to keep watch on him in the beginning whenever he'd give three hours of his time to Bane. His mannerisms were those of a man discovering a new world, almost like a child. So trust me when I say, I guarantee that some split personality exists."

"As well, I dug up old records of Eames's work back when he was with the government," Arthur laid the sheets down, "Shortly after the mission he had with Adrian and I, a point man had sent in a report stating that Eames's subconscious had become volatile and dangerous to his own team."

"Like Cobb with Mal, right?" Ariadne said.

Arthur nodded, "Yes. But far worse. Reports indicate that an entire team would be found tortured to death or a room filled with dead projections would be found, all with their neck snapped," The entire team shivered at the thought, "According to later reports, the horrors had stopped but Eames's performance itself was beginning to fall,"

"Crossing that with the somnacin orders and what Eames told me, that's when he switched to another method to sate Bane," Yusuf added, "So yes, Adrian, we guarantee it is a split personality,"

Ariadne was quick to react, "What happened in that mission with Adrian, you, and Eames? You said the reports came in shortly after. Something must've triggered it," Arthur looked away, ashamed. Aware of this, Ariadne turned to Adrian and waited for his answer.

"There was some... heinous projections in the dream. Thomas had lost control, lashed out, and shot the projections. When he awoke, he killed our mark. He looked lost in rage. No one dared to approach him till he cooled down," Adrian explained, "I knew of his ill-tempered background. I had brushed it off as normal. I hadn't expected that he had repressed his past self by then,"

"No, that's not the truth,"

Everyone turned to Arthur. Adrian in particular was far more shocked than the rest, "Arthur, you don't have to tell them,"

"No, they need to know what triggered Bane's release," Arthur replied, "Eames got angry because he was trying to protect me. The mark was a man who..." It was hard for him to get the words out with all of them so intensely watching, "He raped me, when I was a child. I couldn't control my projections and they began _playing out_ in front of him. Eames's release wasn't just any burst of rage. It was because he was trying to protect me,"

"Arthur," Ariadne whispered. The point man was visibly upset, eyes downcast and posture slackened.

"That's why," Arthur's voice cleared, "In that case, I know Bane must be a piece of Tommy Conlon, Eames's original 'persona'. Tommy was my protector, 'Neil's' protector. In that moment, Bane must've slipped out from repression because the emotions were familiar enough to let him,"

Adrian reclined back in his chair, nodding slowly. He still hadn't quite grasped the entire idea but he knew enough to know where to start. Ariadne followed as well, far more open to this radically new dream science than the more traditional minded Adrian.

The manifestation of Bane had already been hard enough to explain. What Bane had done to Eames, using only remnants of memories Arthur had, was near impossible to explain and prove. All they could do was take Arthur's word for it.

"Impossible, no memory can be lost forever. There is no such process," Adrian said, slapping the handle of his chair.

"Not necessarily," Ariadne replied, "There are plenty of cases of complete memory loss,"

"Due to biological problems, this is not biological. This is purely psychological. It is impossible for a human to completely erase memories."

"Bane isn't a human," Ariadne reminded.

"If it were any other case, I'd believe Adrian," Arthur added, "But I know firsthand that Eames and I are both missing memories whether they are replaced or completely gone. Firstly, Eames has no idea what a totem is. I found it stashed away in a suitcase, never removed from its hiding place,"

"Coincides if he isn't a human," Ariadne added, looking back to Adrian, "If he really is a greater being within the subconscious, he wouldn't need a totem to tell him if he's in reality or not."

Yusuf gestured to Arthur, "I can also vouch for Arthur clearly missing pieces of his memory. I had told him about Bane's existence directly after the inception job. Arthur cannot recall it for his life but we know it must've happened or else he would have never went to Eames afterwards."

"Exactly, I had no reason to find Eames after the job," Arthur added.

Adrian sighed, rubbing the carvings of his lighter with his thumbs, "This is so surreal. I mean, a literal black hole in the subconscious where memories can be erased. Am I dreaming right now?"

"I really wish we were," Arthur said, "Those were the only fragments of memory I could recover, memories of the erasure of the memories."

"But Eames, you said he threw Eames in there," Ariadne said, solemn, worried, "Eames wouldn't be erased, would he?"

No one knew what to say. Arthur hoped for the best. Adrian believed the worst. Yusuf couldn't say which one was right, "But if there is a chance," Ariadne chimed, "We still have to try. The consciousness is not merely a memory. It's a lot more than that. Right, Arthur?"

"Yes, of course," Arthur could have burst into tears at Ariadne's kindness.

"So what are you suggesting? You want us to break into Thomas's mind and free him?" Adrian asked, flipping through papers, "Because from what you've explained, it appears that all of this occurred in limbo,"

Arthur nodded, shutting his eyes and concentrating, "I remember being shot, that much is clear,"

"And the sedatives Bane had ordered from me could definitely induce limbo," Yusuf added.

"And how do you expect to get into limbo? I hope you have something more failsafe than heavy sedation and shooting ourselves in the dream," Adrian said, flipping through chemical reports provided by Yusuf.

"There is another way to get into limbo," Ariadne said, sitting up in her chair to face Adrian, "The fourth level down is limbo. Cobb showed me during the inception job," Arthur watched as he hands danced over the totem in her pocket. Mentioning limbo had made her nervous ever since she entered it. One could never be sure if they had truly left limbo or if they were still trapped there living a fake life, "When Cobb and Mal had entered limbo by dying under heavy sedation, they had momentarily lost their memories. Waking up in limbo is like waking up from a dream where 'reality' has become the dream,"

"Frightening thought," Adrian tacked on, "So that's not an option. We need to be fully sentient down there especially against Bane, or whoever. Is there any other way?"

"By using the PASIVs, and descending level by level. It's the only way to retain your memories, for humans like us, anyway."

Adrian kicked back in his chair, playing with the cap of his lighter totem again. It was a new habit that he just couldn't kick, "I hate to play devil's advocate but I still don't feel good about heavy sedation. Thomas's mind is already heavy militarized. And if this Bane is what you say he is, then we don't stand a chance in hell down there. We'll be blown to limbo in seconds,"

"Ah, that's the clever part," Yusuf said with a smirk, plopping a clear bottle of pitch black fluid, "A new compound I've been working on ever since the Inception job. Brushing death a bit too closely during the job had given me a new magnum opus, as it were. A new compound based off a soporific drug strong enough to induce a sedation-like sleep for three levels and as opposed to falling into limbo after death, the dreamer will merely wake up."

Arthur flipped through the papers describing the new drug, sceptical, "What's the catch?"

"Hysteria, when one awakes. The brain will be accustomed to the high-speed of the subconscious. A sudden jerk back into reality will cause a sluggishness in the mind and possibly hysterical confusion. None of which are fatal,"

"Unless we fail, then it is certainly fatal for us," Adrian said.

Yusuf shrugged, placing the bottle away, "It's either a chance of dying in reality or definite death in limbo. It's a chance we'll have to take,"

"You don't have to do this," Arthur said, attracting everyone's attention, "Look, you just need to help me with planning. I can find a way to do this myself. Eames isn't your responsibility," It is inevitable that they will face dangers beyond their wildest dreams inside of Eames's mind. Arthur was putting all of them in danger for mere fragments of memory he managed to recover.

Yusuf shrugged, plopping down in a chair, "Eames has been a good friend to me. And I know he'd want me to do this even if he'd never say,"

Ariadne smiled to Arthur, innocent and honest, "You helped me find my calling in life. Without you, I'd probably be a graduate student majoring in philosophy somewhere."

Arthur turned to Adrian who stayed in his seat, playing with his lighter with his eyes locked onto Arthur. He smiled and that was all Arthur needed from him, "Thank you," He took out a marker and scribbled onto the whiteboard, "Then let's start planning the dream levels,"

There were three levels to be made which meant one person would be left behind on each level. Eames had heavy militarization so they could only expect Bane to also have just as heavy dream security.

"How about this," Adrian said, "We bring Thomas here and we convince him that he is doing an inception on me? That way, we can ward of his subconscious."

"Doesn't Eames know you?" Ariadne asked, "You said you've worked with him on a job."

"Eames knows him," Yusuf remarked, "Bane does not. Eames told me there were people Bane didn't know. Anyone he met between the time he sealed Bane away and Bane got free is completely unknown to him,"

Ariadne nodded, rubbing her chess piece in her fingers, "Sounds good. That might work,"

"Might? We can't risk a 'might'," Arthur said flatly.

"Thank you for your two-cents, Arthur," Adrian replied, smirking.

"Might is as good as we can get it. It's inevitable that Bane will figure out what we're doing. We just have to hope that we can last long enough to get to Eames in limbo," Ariadne said, "Who will be the dreamer of each layer?"

Yusuf raised his hand lazily, "I will take the first level since I'd probably last the shortest. I've also learned that I'm an amazing getaway driver,"

"Since I'm playing the mark, I'll have to last to the third level," Adrian said, "Since Arthur is going to limbo, that leaves the second level to Ariadne. Sounds good to everyone?"

The dream construction was fast. Ariadne had grown in mere months into a powerful architect able to produce mazes in mere moments. She planned with Yusuf first, constructing a city much like the one they had used in the inception job. She mapped out the streets, showing him where the shortcuts would be if he needed to escape projections. She included a design for the escape vehicle: An armored truck padded on the inside to absorb any attacks from projections. She worked with Adrian next, ultimately deciding on a casino structure with copious amounts of secret pathways. Eames would be sharing the level with him and he'd need to be able to dodge him and his projections. She planned her own stage with Arthur, basing the designs on the possibility that she'd need to combat projections.

"Since the projections will be attacking me anyway, I'll be manipulating the architecture to produce traps, seal exits, anything. So, I'm thinking an enclosed, tunneled area like a sewer," She gestured to the malleable model she had made, "It'll allow me to change that paths as I desire,"

Arthur nodded, agreeing to her masterful design, "Wow. Ariadne, I'm impressed,"

"Are you always so condescending?" Ariadne joked, slapping him on the arm.

Their plan was set. The dreams were set in stone and fully tested. All that was left was to find Eames. Arthur slipped his coat on; it had gotten quite cold in the countryside and he would prefer not to catch a cold before the job began. Ariadne and Yusuf were both busy with their final preparations, taking care of the chemicals in PASIV. That left Adrian, free of work, standing by Arthur's car outside wrapped in a gaudy, crimson trench coat.

"Adrian, here to see me off?" Arthur said, reaching for the handle of his car. He froze when Adrian's hand came to meet his, pulling him away from the handle.

"Arthur, if he's hurting you, you shouldn't go back to him,"

"You heard us in the warehouse, this is a split personality. This isn't Eames,"

"But Thomas isn't completely innocent in this, is he?" Adrian said, retracting his hand and folding his arms, "He created Bane from himself. What's to say that Thomas won't also act like Bane?"

Arthur growled, quietly, and opened the car door. Adrian reached forward again, grabbing his shoulder, "Don't touch me," Arthur hissed. He slapped the hand away, reaching to close the door only to be stopped by Adrian's other hand.

"I don't want to see you get hurt more," Adrian said, "Arthur, _please,_ if there's any chance you could avoid confronting Thomas, confronting 'Bane', please take it," There was affection in his voice. Arthur could feel a spark of passion inside his ex-lover but Arthur felt no such flame.

He shook his head, pushing Adrian's hand back gently, "I love him. And if I'm not willing to suffer in order to save his life then I don't deserve him," He shut the door gently, driving off. He'd made up his mind. Adrian, Ariadne, Yusuf, Cobb, no one could stop him from rescuing Eames.

Eames hadn't picked up his phone the entire drive. Arthur had no choice but to return to the penthouse and retrieve him. He braced himself for violence. He knew Eames would never forgive him for leaving. The door clicked open, barely audible under Arthur's rapid heartbeat. He opened it slowly, looking into the darkness of the penthouse. Everything looked in order. A few pots and pans in the sink signalled that Eames had at least been living normally.

"Eames?" Arthur said, flipping on the light. Eames's office door opened, startling Arthur, "Eames, I'm sorry for leaving," The forger looked at him with absolute blankness in his eyes, "I was...upset. And there was a job Yusuf asked me to do. It's another inception and we need your help," Why did Eames stay quiet? It unnerved Arthur to no end, "Eames, are you in?"

The forger approached him, reaching out a hand to massage his right arm, "Is it still sore?" He asked, kneading at it brutally. The sharp pain was renewed by his touch, Arthur bit his tongue to prevent himself from crying out, "Arthur, I'll forgive you this once since you returned," He leaned forward, nipping at Arthur's ear, "Beloved," He sighed, grinding his hips against Arthur's.

Arthur stifled a moan, pressing against Eames. He had to play along. He had to let him do as he wished. He could endure just one more night if it meant he could have his Eames back. But what if Adrian was right? What if he had been in love with a forgery all along? He carried those thoughts with him as he lay in bed with Eames, letting the man take him wildly. Eames was insatiable, unable to get enough of Arthur even as the point man lay on the bed far too exhausted to reciprocate. Those terrifying arms wrapped around him, suffocating him.

 _This isn't the real Eames._ Arthur repeated his words like a mantra as Eames thrust into him almost to the point of making him bleed. He had to believe in Yusuf. He had to believe in his memories. The real Eames is in there, suffering, lost.

When Eames finally exhausted himself, he collapsed beside Arthur, once again wrapping his strong arms around the thinner man. Arthur returned the hug with a loose embrace, "Eames, so, can you help them?"

"Mm, sure," The forger said, falling to sleep with his lips pressed against Arthur's forehead. 

A farewell kiss, Arthur thought, to this monster who impersonated the man he loved.

 

"Ah, Eames, good to see you again," Yusuf greeted him with widespread arms, "It has been so long since you came to Mombasa,"

"I'm a 'married man' now, Yusuf," Eames joked, curling an arm around Arthur's waist, "I'm afraid he's had me tied down in New York," His words were so jovial, so _Eames_ , that it made Arthur more and more anxious, "So, who's our mark?"

Yusuf gestured to Ariadne who sat by an unconscious Adrian, setting up the PASIV. She greeted him with a smile and was promptly ignored, a clear indication that this was indeed not Eames, "Aaron Bacchus," Ariadne said, standing, "An important figure within the mafia. We were paid to incept a change of alliance within him by a rival gang," She looked on with uncertainty as Eames stared at Adrian a little too long.

"Ah, Ariadne, you've become a big-time dream criminal, haven't you?" Eames said with a laugh, sitting down in his lawn chair, "Arthur briefed me on the way here so let's get this over with then, shall we?" He watched intently as Arthur fixed the IV into his arm, giving his wrist a gentle caress before reclining in the chair.

Arthur nearly blew his cover, almost ignoring the affectionate gesture. He immediately lifted his head, shooting a shy, little smile before retreating to his lawn chair. He fixed the IV to his arm and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

"Nervous, beloved? I'm right here,"

"It's inception; I'll always be nervous," Arthur replied, keeping his eyes shut.

"Sweet dreams," Yusuf said, reaching for the button on the device and depressing it.

To no one's surprise, the city Yusuf had crafted instantly became a war zone with gunmen and _freaking helicopters_ chasing them. Fortunately, Yusuf had planned for this and had designed a cushion lined truck as his escape vehicle. He took the wheel, the rest of the team stayed in the back preparing the second drop.

"Is the mark sedated?" Yusuf shouted, looking over his shoulder into the truck.

Arthur propped Adrian up against the wall of the jostling truck, "Yeah, he's out like a light," He said, strapping him onto the padded bench.

"Bloody hell, his projections are vicious," Eames said, preparing his own IV after he strapped himself in.

The whole truck nearly tipped over as continuous fire from a submachine gun rained down on the side of the truck. Yusuf took a sharp turn down an alley Ariadne had prepared, dodging the fire. Arthur, who hadn't been secured in, fell forward and right into Adrian's arms. The position was entirely accidental but Arthur could feel the seething rage shooting through Arthur. He reached forward from his seat, tearing Arthur off the decoy mark and into his bench.

"Are you alright, love?" Eames said, playing coy as he strapped Arthur harshly into the seat.

"No time to chat, guys," Ariadne shouted, pushing the PASIV towards Yusuf, "Now!"

Yusuf nodded, reaching back and depressing the button. As soon as they were all unconscious, Yusuf took a huge breath and stepped on the gas. No matter how well they had planned, Yusuf knew this wouldn't work but for Arthur and Eames's sake, he promised to at least try. Bane was a creature beyond anyone's power in the subconscious. How he had been deceived for so long, Yusuf couldn't understand.

A similar occurrence happened with Ariadne's level. Projections carrying grenade launchers chased them down quickly. Only Ariadne's quick manipulation of the architecture had halted their advances. As one heavily armed group approached, the entire team braced themselves behind a pipe for cover.

"Are these the Medici's men?" Adrian hollered, grabbing a gun from his holster and shooting at them from the cover. A bullet skid over the cover, skimming his shoulder, "My father's paying you for this. Get to work!" He played the role of a spoiled mafia son perfectly. The rest were dressed in fine cut black and white suits, mimicking a team of bodyguards.

"Arthur, Eames, you take him out back. There's a hidden path in the back that leads to an escape route," Ariadne shouted, shooting at the projections as they continued to approach, "Hurry!" The two didn't wait. They grabbed Adrian and hauled him out, covering him with their bodies like any normal bodyguards would.

As soon as they were out of sight, Ariadne braced herself against the pipe and concentrated, flipping the entire tunnel onto its side effectively turning it into a pit, throwing all the projections down it while she remained standing upon the now sideways pipe. She concentrated again, searching for the lounge she had instructed Eames and Arthur to take Adrian. When she had her mind upon it, she flipped it upside down and shook it like a bottle of ketchup, emptying out the projections that might've holed up there. As soon as she felt Eames and Arthur getting close, she placed the lounge back down and proceeded with twisting the paths into a maze to trap all the projections.

When the three arrived at the lounge, Adrian, like a spoiled brat, demanded for a quick rest and drink before they continued on. As planned, Adrian took the drugged wine and fell asleep on the couch. Eames retrieved the PASIV from a cupboard and strapped the false mark in.

"What's that sound?" Eames called out, hearing the twist of metal as Ariadne rearranged the path.

"Ariadne," Arthur replied, "She's complicating the maze so the projections will have a harder time finding us."

"Clever girl," Eames said quickly, laying against the reclining chair, "Ready?"

"Got it," Arthur said, pressing the button.

A casino in the daytime was Adrian's idea. It wouldn't be too farfetched to have a rich mafia son rent out an entire casino for the day so he could enjoy it alone. This kept the projections at bay, locked outside till Eames figured out what was actually happening. Adrian sat by the slots, mindlessly pulling at the lever like an impatient child. The PASIV device was hidden at the bar. Eames was tasked with accompanying the disgruntled mafia son disguised as his older brother while Arthur moved to plant the idea. In reality, he was to find the PASIV. If it all worked out, Eames would not even know Arthur had gone down to limbo.

 _If_ it had all worked out.

Before Arthur could even propose the idea, the lights went out. Only the slot machines provided an eerie neon light for them to see. Arthur groped around in the dark, unable to find Eames who was just standing beside him.

"Adrian?" Arthur called out. He felt a warm hand touch his own. He recognized it to be Adrian's hand by the small mole on the back of his wrist, "I can't find Eames."

Adrian stood from the chair, searching the darkness frantically, "Shit, I think he found out. No, _I don't think we tricked him at all_ ,"

The lights had gone out in the sewer tunnels Ariadne designed. The light was dim to begin with, now the world around her was absolutely pitch black. Luckily, the projections chasing her relented. There was only silence. Silence and pitch black darkness, "Knew it," Ariadne said, feeling her way through the tunnels slowly.

Yusuf stopped the truck immediately the instant darkness shrouded over him. It was like he had entered a tunnel. The only lights provided were the speedometer and radio, giving him just enough light to look at the crew behind him. Eames was missing, as expected, but everyone remained asleep.

"Commendable effort," Bane's voice spoke, echoing, to _everyone_ , "If I were anyone else, this would have worked but I'm not like _anyone else_ , am I? You are mere pioneers scratching at the surface of the subconscious. The subconscious is _my domain_ and only I can invoke its true potential."

Adrian ran fast, leading Arthur by the hand to the bar dimly lit by a few lava lamps littered around it. He opened the mini fridge where they had hidden the PASIV. Adrian punched the counter when he was greeted with an empty fridge.

"Shit, we underestimated him, big time," Adrian hissed.

"Naturally, Mr. Bacchus," Bane's voice echoed through the casino, "Did you think you could hide something within the subconscious without me knowing?"

Ariadne shut her eyes, reconstructing the sewer as quickly as she could. Bane would be upon them soon and bring hell upon them. She had to prepare for the fight of her life. Yusuf immediately scrambled in the truck, gathering bits and pieces in his truck and constructing a failsafe.

"Fear not, I will not kill any of you. No, that would only send you to limbo and that is most undesirable for me as my false half now resides there. Your punishment must be far more severe to teach you a lesson for trying to overthrow a _god_. Learn from this,"

Adrian scoffed, holding Arthur's hand tightly, "He's definitely as conceited as Thomas,"

The light came on all at once. Adrian was tackled into a slot machine that exploded in sparks and coins, his grip on Arthur wrenched apart painfully. Arthur reached for Adrian, only to be blocked by a mass of absolute darkness. A hand grabbed Arthur, throwing him over the bar and into the rack of alcohol behind him.

Ariadne ran, sealing the tunnels behind her as Bane followed her like a venomous shadow. Bane merely tore the tubes apart like paper and continued stalking her. Ariadne pulled out a tube to brace herself as she once again turned the tunnel over, transforming it into a pit. She looked over the edge only to be roughly grabbed by the neck and hauled up. Bane was standing against the wall, defying the gravity she had induced, "Dreaming big, Ariadne?" Bane said with a deep chuckle.

Yusuf wasted no time, fumbling around with wires and devices while he drove at breakneck speeds through the streets. Helicopters swooped down, pelting the armored truck with heavy fire. Yusuf swore under his breath, swerving into an underground path to dodge more fire. With the armored, padded truck, it was unlikely that a crash would be able to kill everyone and wake them up. He had only one shot with this, Yusuf continued to drive with one hand constructing something under the dashboard.

"Oh hell!" Yusuf shouted as a car rammed him from the side as soon as he exited the underground path. The truck swerved but stayed upright due to its heavy weight. He fought as it skid down the road, slamming into a building and knocking the wind right out of him.  He started the car again, not letting the projections catch up to him.

Before he could even make it past a close by intersection, a motorcycle cut directly in front of him, disorienting the chemist and forcing him to turn to his left where he met a heavy barricade. Yusuf made a hard turn but it was too late, the truck crashed straight into the barricade and sharp barbs slashed the tires of the truck.

The motorcyclist came in front of him, removing the mask revealing a scarred, bald head wrapped in a fearful mask. Yusuf didn't need to guess who this was, "Bane," His hands continued wiring even as the devil approached him.

Bane continued to dangle Ariadne in the air, fixing the gravity so it suited his position. He watched in amusement as the architect's eyes began shooting around the area. Pipes shot out from the walls, grabbing onto Bane and pinning him to the wall. Ariadne struggled free and backed away, glaring intently as pipes continued to grab at Bane like metallic arms trying to tear him to pieces.

"Interesting," Bane said, chuckling, "But futile," He tore through the pipes with mere brute force.

Ariadne didn't wait. She ran building new paths through the walls and defying gravity as she fled the beast. Pipes, like voracious snakes, chased Bane and grabbed him as he ran. The entire sewer came to life, trying to subdue Bane. When the sound of metal breathing died down, Ariadne collapsed against a steady pillar. She had never felt mental exhaustion before in the dream world even when she was playing around with architecture. This excessive use drained her, leaving her dangerously vulnerable.

"You think the subconscious is your ally?" Ariadne flinched, searching all around her for Bane, "You merely adopted the subconscious. I was born in it. Molded by it. I didn't see reality till I was a grown man and by then, it was nothing to me but..." The pipes directly in front of Ariadne opened up like a reverse Tetris wall, revealing Bane stepping in casually with his thumbs hooked on the lapels of his coat, "Simple,"

The pipes around her didn't move. Ariadne couldn't even will the ground to shake without her vision blurring intensely. Bane forced her to exhaust herself fleeing from him. She dove to the left, only to be stopped pipes coming from the sides sealing up the path with a metal wall. Her fists did nothing to move the metal unlike Bane's monstrous strength.

"You are an impressive architect. Had you not been a rival for Arthur's affection, I would have liked to let you off easily," Bane approached her slowly, grabbing at her shirt and slamming her to the wall when she tried to shoot herself with her gun, "Now, we don't want that, do we? There is a lesson to be taught here and when it is written down in your blood, you have my permission to die,"

Adrian recovered from the impact quickly, dodging the boot that came down on him. Fists flew at him; despite blocking all of them and redirecting them with his palms, the sheer force coming from the strikes sent him recoiling back, stumbling to keep his balance. When Adrian was driven back onto a roulette table, he used the recoil from Bane's punches to roll himself over it. By the time he recovered, Bane had disappeared, "What the hell?" Adrian grunted as he was lifted into the air, suspending over Bane threateningly.

"Ah, commendable effort by futile nonetheless,"

He slammed Adrian down onto his knee, snapping his spine. Adrian couldn't swallow the scream that ruptured from his lungs. He was dropped to the ground, another jolt of pain shocked through his body. His hand gripped at the carpet, trying to find purchase, only to be crushed beneath Bane's boot. He screamed again, his body convulsing in pain.

Arthur recovered quickly, brushing away the glass shard that covered him. He took a bottle of rum from the bar and rushed at Bane, smashing the bottle over his head and soaking him in the alcohol. Bane didn't react, he kept his boot on Adrian's mangled hand. He merely looked to Arthur with an amused look in his eyes.

"Down here, asshole," Adrian hissed, withdrawing his totem from his pocket with his good hand. He rolled the thumbwheel, igniting the wick with a small flame and setting the rum ablaze.

Bane was ignited into flames. He did not react at all. In absolute horror, Adrian dropped the lighter and began to shake. Arthur backed away slowly, watching as Bane lifted his boot from Adrian's hand and approached Arthur, body still alit with flames. As soon as the hand touched Arthur's face, the flames died revealing a perfectly intact Bane.

"Must I keep repeating myself?" Bane said, grabbing onto Arthur and slamming him onto the poker table, scattering poker chips all over the floor. Arthur fought hard in his grasp, clawing at his face with his hands. With his massive hand, Bane took his one wrist and shattered it against the table. The other wrist he spared, merely holding it still as Arthur cried out in pain, "As much as it pains me to do this, you too must submit to a punishment or else you will never learn," With his other hand, he pressed it against his clothes. Panic rose in Arthur as his clothes burned away from invisible fire, leaving him exposed to the monster before him.

Arthur kicked at Bane only to have his legs once again spread till they were absolutely useless against him. He screamed in anguish and struggled violently. The position was far too familiar to him. His broken wrist was in a mass of exploding pain and his intact wrist was firmly restrained by Bane. The mask pressed hard markings into Arthur's neck as Bane leaned in to give him a mock kiss. With his thumb, he pressed it deep inside of Arthur without any lubrication. Arthur grunted loudly as the humiliating pain continued to bloom deep inside him.

"Stop," Arthur begged, staring into Bane's eyes which so ironically resembled Eames's, "Eames, stop it, please, stop," The man he begged for mercy was imaginary. There was only Bane. The hand on his penis sealed his fate, forcing him to find pleasure in his own rape.

"Thomas, you never change," Adrian hissed, forcing himself onto his good elbow, "Still trying to take Arthur all this time even when he has no interest to," Bane's hand on Arthurs cock removed itself, turning to Adrian. The grip on his wrist remained, still pinning him in place, "Certainly, you haven't forgotten me, have you?"

Bane narrowed his eyes. He did remember Adrian, just vaguely. Eames had once forged him as a plaything during their first arrangement. He was one of the unknowns in his mind. Certainly, Eames must've had a reason for forging this man first as opposed to plenty others.

"And who are you, Mr. Bacchus?"

"Adrian Bacchus, extractor," Adrian hissed out through the pain, "Ex-boyfriend to Arthur," He let out a coarse laugh as Bane's eyes widened, "Yeah, that's right. I had Arthur first, all of Arthur. He belonged to me in every possible way," Bane was approaching him slowly, rage radiating from him like a poisonous aura.

"Shut your mouth," Bane shouted, "He was mine long before she ever met you,"

"Neil was yours first," Adrian said, coughing again, "But Arthur was mine first. He's even told me about Neil, all about Neil. I have everything you knew about Neil and more," Arthur watched as the words poured from Adrian's mouth. They weren't true. Arthur didn't tell him anything other than brief stories about his life as Neil, "Has Arthur ever told you anything about me? Given that you didn't even know who I was, I bet he _didn't_."

Arthur struggled up on the poker table, cradling his broken wrist. Adrian was making up lies to provoke Bane, distract him from harming Arthur, "Stop!" Arthur shouted as Bane towered over Adrian's crippled form, "Bane, he's lying. Leave him alone!" Bane ignored him, he couldn't hear him over the rage pumping through his veins.

"He's mine," Adrian said, smirking, "You'll always be Arthur's second," He glanced to Arthur, smiling reassuringly at him, before shutting his eyes tightly as Bane's foot collided with his head. The beating was relentless. Bane's growls and attacks were fueled on pure, hot rage provoked by Adrian's false words of claim. Arthur's screams were lost amongst the sounds of bones crunching and flesh breaking.

By the time Bane returned his attention to Arthur, Adrian was a lump of mangled flesh on the ground still twitching, breathing, _alive_. Arthur tried to pry him away, only to be beaten and tossed aside as Bane continued to wail on the extractor. He grabbed Arthur's neck and choked him, lifting him over Adrian's mangled body as he spoke.

"You belong to me, say it,"

Arthur kept his mouth shut. Adrian was willing to suffer for him. He wouldn't let his sacrifice be in vain, "Fuck you," Arthur hissed to Bane, spitting into his face.

Ariadne fell upon a pile of mangled pipes, clutching her broken arm and coughing out blood. Bane was on her in a second, kicking her in the stomach, sending her flying into another wall, "You're a monster," Ariadne said.

"Most definitely," Bane replied, grabbing the front of her shirt and lifting her.

"Eames," She gasped, gripping into Bane's wrist with her good arm, "And Eames had to live with you in his mind, all this time," She coughed out more blood, splattering it against Bane's armored vest. With the last of her mental strength, Ariadne shut her eyes and tore open a hole beneath them. Bane, caught off guard, plummeted down the hole along with Ariadne who's mind became completely disoriented the instant she pushed past her mental limits.

"Done," Yusuf said quickly as he hooked up two red wires before Bane reached into the truck and yanked the chemist onto the ground.

Bane towered over him, a smile in his eyes, "Your presence was what tipped me off," He said, "Even if I had erased Arthur's mind, you were still fully aware. I had no way of reaching you, however, and you were far too valuable an ally to kill," He pushed Yusuf away from the truck with his boot, "Nothing was stopping you from telling Arthur. Nothing but me to intercept any messages you might've had,"

Yusuf nodded, "I had suspicions that this had occurred but I hoped for the best," He stood slowly, still dizzy from the crash.

"I will give you a two minute head start since you have always been very useful for all my endeavors," Bane said, folding his arms.

"Two minutes, how generous," Yusuf said, removing a detonator from his jacket pocket and depressing the button. The armored truck imploded instantly, smoke and fire billowing from the windows. Bane was obviously caught off guard at the sudden explosion, "You might be aware of everything we plant in the subconscious but Eames was an awful scientist and I doubt he could recognize a makeshift bomb even if I pointed it out to him," During Bane's shock, Yusuf took out his gun and promptly shot himself.

The entire team woke up gasping and screaming. Adrian writhed on his lawn chair, screaming out now that his lungs were intact and clawing at the handles of his seat. Ariadne awoke gasping for air, keeping his eyes shut as the mental exhaustion continued to wreak havoc on her mind. The world spun around her and she nearly threw up just from merely reaching over her head and grabbing her chess piece totem from the table. She rubbed at it intensely, almost like she couldn't quite feel if it was the right weight. Yusuf awoke calmly with only a slight grogginess from the drug, immediately rushing to Adrian's side and helping him lean down to pick up his lighter totem when he had dropped it. Arthur came to Ariadne's side, stroking her back as she began violently coughing, the phantom pain of a pierced stomach still throbbing.

"Hurry, we need to keep Eames sedated," Arthur said to Yusuf, the only other healthy member on the team.

"Too late, beloved,"

Gunshots rang out, Yusuf fell to the ground as bullets shot past him. Ariadne screamed, pulling away from the sound as Eames emptied an entire clip of bullets into Adrian. Arthur watched with wide eyes as Adrian's life was torn from him with every gunshot. Blood splattered from Adrian's body, catching Arthur's face and collar at one point. Yusuf was on him at once, wrestling the gun away from Eames and kicking it down an air vent. Eames grabbed him roughly by the hair and slammed his forehead into the desk, effectively knocking him out.

"Yusuf!" Ariadne shouted, trying to get onto her feet steadily. Eames would've been upon her in a second had Arthur not leapt in the way and intercepted him. He grabbed at Eames, twisting his arm back and cuffing him hard over the neck.

With the devil's strength, Eames reached around Arthur, picked him up into the air, and slammed him back down into one of the lawn chairs. With loose tubing from the PASIV, Eames bound Arthur to the chair with his wrists tied firmly above his head. Arthur struggled hard, trying to kick himself off the chair with no avail, "Ariadne, run!" He shouted.

"But, Adrian," Ariadne gasped, looking at the still twitching Adrian who fought to survive despite his horrible wounds.

"He's going to kill you!" Arthur shouted as Eames pulled away from Arthur and ran towards Ariadne. She didn't hesitate then, running through the emergency exit and into the factory with Eames on her tail. A wet, choking cough caught Arthur's attention. He jerked his head to Adrian who mouthed one final farewell before the life left his eyes. He screamed in anguish; it was his selfishness that brought this chaos upon everyone. Adrian's blood, still warm, oozed down his face, stinging his eyes as it mingled with tears of rage.

Unlike Bane, Eames was loud and not quite as stealthy in this world. Ariadne, using her nimbler body, was able to evade him by weaving through discarded factory equipment and small passages. However, the coating of dust in the factory left a clear trail to where she had gone. Eames used this trail to his advantage, saving his energy by merely following the trail and positioning himself so he'd be able to intercept her from the factory exit.

"Ariadne, certainly you know that I can't let you go free," Eames called out, "You are a threat to me. I will not let you take Arthur away from me,"

Ariadne bit down on her lip, hiding in an alcove behind one of the factory conveyor belts. She had to fight in order to prevent herself from saying 'you drove Arthur away yourself'. With a cat's grace, she crawled away from the alcove, travelling towards the exit slowly. A sudden crash behind her startled her, making her scream aloud. Eames had purposely knocked over a cart of metal tubing, create a loud enough distraction to startle her. In horror from giving away her position, she darted towards the exit.

Eames wasted no time in reaching her and tossing her light frame far from the exit. She collided into a shelf of miscellaneous equipment. With Eames closing in and no way to go, Ariadne began hurling the objects at him, screaming hysterically. The hysteria from pushing past her mental limits mixed with the new drug was creeping up on her again making her vision swim and her heartbeat race. Ariadne reached for a canister of gasoline and hurled it at Eames. He easily batted it away with his hands but not before the cap tumbled off and doused his shirt in gasoline.

This, she could work with. Ariadne never carried a gun. In the dreamscape, the mechanics behind using a gun could be ignored so firing a gun would be as simple as merely pulling a trigger without worry of recoil or deflection. She had yet to carry such training in reality so instead, she carried a stun gun with her. She reached forward, pressed the stun gun to Eames's soaked chest, "Forgive me, Eames," And ignited the gasoline.

Eames's screams of pain echoed through the factory. Arthur was startled by the sound and Yusuf had been slightly roused by it before losing himself again to unconsciousness. Ariadne ran past him and screamed when Eames grabbed her in a fit of hysterical rage and threw her hard against a conveyor belt. The rigid, sharp metal collided with her back. A horrific crunch in her spine echoed through the factory and she fell to the ground unable to move. Eames tore at his shirt, pressing himself to the ground to douse the flames. His flesh was not severely burned but he knew medical attention was necessary. For now, his adrenaline was the only painkiller he received.

Arthur continued to struggle in the lawn chair. By the sound of Eames's scream, he couldn't tell if Ariadne had succeeded or not. His hopes were crushed when Eames entered the room, fresh burns on his chest and neck, "Bane," Arthur growled, "If you've hurt her, I'll kill you!" He was silenced with a brutal slap to his face.

Yusuf groaned as he began to awaken but Eames paid him no mind. He merely stepped over him and retrieved a few bottles of chemicals from Yusuf's makeshift desk. Arthur struggled with all his strength as Eames approached with a needle in hand filled with sedative.

"Go to sleep now, Arthur," He muttered, inserting the needle and putting the point man to sleep.


	6. Despair Gambit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rape, psychological rape, torture, and general darkness of chapter

The air was warm and clean unlike the harsh, musty air of the abandoned factory. Arthur woke to soft, plush blankets wrapped around him and an expensive silk pillow nestled under his cheek. He groaned, a dull headache building in his temples. When he reached up to feel his forehead for a fever, a metal jangle and coldness wrapped around his wrist alerted him instantly. He opened his eyes, seeing the handcuffs tightly wrapped around his wrist. A gentle clicking caught his attention. He rolled over in the bed, nearly passing out from a sudden headache that came from the movement. His eyes fell upon Eames, sitting on a wooden chair shirtless with bandages all around his neck and chest, playing with a lighter in his hands.

"Eames," Arthur mumbled.

"Ah, beloved, you're awake," Eames said, smiling as he continued to play with the lighter, his thumb turning the thumbwheel yet producing no flame.

The golden, engraved surface was an instant reminder to Arthur of what had just transpired. Gunshots and blood, too much blood, flashed through his mind. He had a million and one things to cry out but his exhaustion only allowed him to whisper one word, " _Why?_ "

Seeing how Arthur eyed the lighter, Eames assumed he talked about Adrian, "He said he claimed you. I won't allow anyone else who has claimed you to live. You belong to me and me alone," He sat upon the bed and planted an arm behind Arthur, towering over him with his body, "I won't share you with anyone. Adrian, Cobb, Ariadne, _Eames_ , no one."

"Why me of all people?" Arthur whispered, "Because I'm Neil? Because I loved you?"

Eames moved in quickly, too quickly, too close. Arthur let out a quiet whimper unheard to Eames at the sudden proximity, "You were the only remnant that I could find happiness in all those centuries trapped in Eames's mind. At first, I thought the memories were good enough but now that I have you, I will never let you go." Arthur shuddered violently, jerking away from Eames only to be pulled back by the collar of his loose dress shirt, "I only wish to protect you from getting hurt, beloved, and show you how much you mean to me," His eyes were so mesmerizing, so affectionate. Combined with the passion in his deep voice and his alluring musk, Arthur almost wanted to give in and lose himself to Eames.

Images of maggots crawling through the shower of bullet holes in Adrian's body and Ariadne laying lifeless, mangled on some mechanical equipment immediately doused his passion for Eames. Arthur reached up with his left leg and kicked Eames hard in the stomach, forcing him off the bed.

"To hell with you," Arthur hissed, squirming back on the bed. A headache seized his body at the worst time as Eames took his moment's pause to grab him by the shoulders and slam him harshly to the wall. Arthur's vision spun and he nearly threw up, "Protect me from getting hurt? You're the reason I've been covered in bruises for the last month!"

Eames growled, glowering at Arthur, "This is necessary harm. How else will you learn to conform?"

"Conform to what? Your idea of Arthur? This isn't the subconscious. I'm not a projection. I'm not under your control!" Arthur barked back. He twisted his head out of the way, expecting the harsh slap. In response, Eames threw Arthur face down on the bed and held his face against the mattress as he began stripping off the boxers and sweatpants he had given him.

Eames used little lubrication as he thrust into him violently, gripping his hips till his fingers grinded into his hip bone. Arthur bit through his lip holding back his screams. He wouldn't let Eames get the satisfaction of seeing him scream. When the pain was too much and his lips were in shreds, Arthur bit down on his pillow, using his bound hands to steady the position.

Eames slowed as he reached his climax, reaching down to Arthur's half-erect penis to stroke him to completion as well. At the touch, Arthur released the pillow and gasped, "Stop!" He moaned as pleasure began to mix with the humiliating pain. Eames shook his head, smiling as he continued to thrust his curled fist up and down Arthur's erection.

Eames timed it perfectly, both of them coming seconds apart. As soon as he withdrew, he inserted his fingers into Arthur's ass, checking for any tearing. Arthur, shuddering, looked back at him with tears in his eyes, "Beloved, you will conform," With his free hand, he gently stroked Arthur's sweat matted hair, "You will learn to love me just as I love you. It's only a matter of time,"

"Fuck you," Arthur hissed back, defiant even in exhaustion. He cried out weakly as Eames began twisting his fingers inside of him, "Stop it, stop it," He muttered fast. The forger continued relentlessly until Arthur was a sobbing mess on the bed.

 

Arthur's days became a painful routine. If Eames didn't have a job, he'd drop by and bring him food, all of which Arthur rejected just to spite him. While Arthur sat on the bed or tried to distract himself by pacing around the room, Eames would sit back in the heavy wooden chair and watch him intently, sometimes trying to make small talk. Anytime Eames got tired of Arthur's silence or Arthur shot a spiteful word at him, Eames would strike him hard. Arthur could struggle all he wanted but he was helpless against Eames's strength combined with his bound wrists. After each beating which left Arthur bruised and curled up in pain on the floor or bed, Arthur would stare at his bound wrists and wonder if he could just free his hands then he could do some massive damage on Eames. He was certainly not a former mixed martial arts champion but he'd gone through more than enough training to make him on par with Eames.

If Arthur tried to placate Eames by responding to his words, Eames would instead pin him to the bed and fuck him wildly. It only took Eames a few days to figure out all of Arthur's hot spots and exploit them until Arthur was drowning in hot, steaming pleasure. The one time he shot Eames a small smile after he made a joke about Cobb, Eames spent the entire day copulating with him in bed taking hourly breaks to keep both of them able. Never again did Arthur dare to smile at Eames.

Arthur could take pain. Arthur could endure. But anytime Eames used pleasure to render him helpless, Arthur felt that he was losing himself. A part of him wanted to take all the passion Eames offered and use it to smother the common sense that begged him not to fall for Eames's tricks. No more kind words; no more placating. It was going to drive him insane.

On the days that Eames had a job, he'd leave several plastic containers with food for him to eat for the next few days. He never provided cutlery. Eames must've rightfully suspected that Arthur would consider using them as weapons.

The first time it happened, Eames had been gone for three days and he had left nine plastic containers. Arthur popped open the first one and ate the apple sauce oatmeal Eames had created. Eames was an awful cook. He had to tell Eames that when he returned. When he finished his meal, he reached onto the floor and pulled on his discarded boxers, tossed aside last night by Eames when he ravished him.

The room Eames left him in seemed simple but with careful analysis, Arthur could tell much planning was put into this room. The bed and bed stand was bolted down to the floor preventing him from using either as a weapon. The only other piece of furniture was the leather chair by the bed where Eames usually sat. Arthur tried lifting it but the chair was far too heavy to use effectively as a weapon. The ceiling fixture, a simple multi-headed light, was just out of reach from Arthur. Eames suspected rightfully that he might break the light bulb and use the glass as a weapon.

The bathroom had no door and was furnished with a small sink, a shower stall, and a toilet. Soap and shampoo were all provided in small bottles. The lights were, once again, completely out of reach to him even if he stood on the sink.

There was no windows or clocks. Time was kept only from the sliver of light coming from the door which was sealed with a digital keypad lock. Arthur paid no mind to this but during one day without Eames, he had realized its function. If Arthur had figured out a way to subdue Eames, he'd still need Eames to open the door for him. By the chance that he accidentally killed Eames, he'd be locked in here without the code.

"Smart bastard," Arthur muttered, opening one container and eating the pork pie Eames had prepared. A few bites in and Arthur began formulating the most spiteful way he could tell Eames that his cooking was absolutely horrendous.

When he finally got the chance, Eames merely laughed and promised that he would go out and buy better food. To Arthur's surprise, he really had bought food for him the next time.

Eames was always insatiable whenever he returned from a job. He'd rush into the room, drag him onto the bed, pin him down, and take him mercilessly while murmuring soothing words that contrasted his heinous actions. Arthur hoped that he could endure but after the fifth time it happened, Arthur began dreading the times when Eames had a job even if it gave him days of peace by himself.

After every romp, Eames would take Arthur into his arms and curl up with him under the blankets, mumbling sweet words into his hair and describing his day like a normal lover would. Arthur didn't respond. He couldn't think of anything spiteful to say while Eames casually remarked on his day.

Today was a special case, however. Eames had just gotten back from an assassination job. Blood was still visible on the cuff of his shirt. He looked clearly exhausted but regardless, he was still insatiable for sex. He dragged Arthur out of the shower, threw him to the bed, and stripped quickly as he raped him. Unable to find anything to bite down on other than Eames's shoulder, Arthur cried out from the intense pain and pleasure which only made Eames move faster and harder. He bit down on Eames's shoulder when the thrust became too much for him. Absently, he tilted his head and examined his neck where the butterfly tattoo was.

He was greeted with the sight of scarred tissue without a spot of ink on them.

Arthur broke down shortly after, hysterically crying even after Eames released him. Eames said nothing as well, merely stroking Arthur's head softly and comforting him through the tears. The next day, Arthur was only barely recovered, almost catatonic. Eames decided to bring in something to show him, something to cheer him up again.

"I've collected plenty of totems," Eames said, lifting a box from his briefcase, "Think of them as souvenirs for my job," Arthur shuddered at the way he said those words so calmly. His eyes were fearful; Eames caught it quickly, "Don't be scared, beloved. I'd never kill you even if they paid me all the money in the world," He opened the box, revealing a plethora of little colourful trinkets.

Eames let Arthur search through the box. Immediately, Arthur dove into the box to make sure Cobb's top and Ariadne's chess piece weren't in there. To his pleasure, both totems were not inside. Adrian's lighter was there, however, which always made him shudder and think about horrific torture Bane had put him through in the dream world.

"Would you like to keep one?"

This could be his chance. Eames assumed that the totems were harmless just as he assumed Arthur always had no imagination. That wasn't true, not in the slightest. Arthur nodded and reached into the box, searching through the box for useful totem. His hands fell upon an origami crane that appeared to be made of paper but in reality, was made of sheet metal.

"Ah, I liked that one too," Eames said, touching the head of the crane, "Took that off a Japanese point man," He pressed his lips to Arthur's forehead, tracing up the arm that held the toy crane, "What's in your mind, Arthur? What are you thinking?" He nipped on his ear and put the totem box aside. For this one night, Arthur would let him indulge in his pleasure. In gratitude, Eames would let him keep the totem and that was worth all the debauchery Eames put him through.

As luck would have it, Eames was off on another job for the next day. It was a one-day job which meant Arthur had to work fast. He never knew when Eames would return but judging from the rations, he'd be back before dinner time. With the correct amount of leverage, using one soap bottle as a handle, Arthur snapped off one metal wing. With the wing still attached to the body, he began carving at the severed wing, sharpening it till it was almost a blade.

The thought of slashing Eames's throat with the blade had gone through his mind several times but he refrained from the thought. With the soap, he lubricated the sharpened wing and pressed it between the door and the doorframe, trying to wedge the lock free. For a few minutes, Arthur's hope began to dwindle. The adrenaline rush he had received when he thought he'd finally escape was declining when the lock refused to move.

And then a click came, Arthur wedged the sharpened wing further. A second click came and he jerked the door open. _Yes!_ Arthur shouted in his mind as he stepped out of his room, breathing in the fresh air coming from the open window. There were trees all around him. This must've been a summer home of sorts Eames had bought. It was rather spacious with a studio interior. The kitchen was well furnished. Arthur immediately took a knife from the cutlery cupboard and held it close. Could he stab Eames if the chance arose? Probably not, but he had to take the chance. It was substantially colder than the tiny bedroom he was given. He eventually found a fur lined, tan jacket from the closet and draped it around himself. No pants were provided though, only the barest of necessities were here. There wasn't even a phone or computer. This must've truly been Eames's summer cottage, completely separated from work.

He was horrified when he pulled open the curtain. All he saw was trees and water. In disbelief, he slipped on a pair of sandals too big for his feet and rushed out. Water, everywhere around him, with only a sliver of land to the east. He ran to the dock hidden by several rocky cliffs. As expected, there were no boats. Eames must've taken the only one.

He explored the tiny island, finding only trees and rocks upon it. Arthur couldn't imagine the amount of money he had in order to pay for it. Assassinations paid a lot, a lot more than dream crime. The sound of a boat motor going alerted him immediately. His heart pounded at the sight of a boat coming towards the island. Immediately, Arthur ran back inside, threw the coat into the closet, and placed the knife back in the drawer. He hesitated just for a second. If he killed Eames now, he could escape. No one would have to know. Eames would likely have a phone on him too.

In the end, he couldn't do it. It became harder and harder to remind himself that his Eames was still alive, trapped inside Bane but he stuck to the reminder. Arthur returned to his room, hid the sharpened wing, and lay down on the bed feigning sleep. The sex became less brutal in Arthur's mind as he conjured his plan to escape.

The next time Eames had disappeared, Arthur left his room and began collecting his materials for escape. He took flour and spread it gingerly over the white surfaces, nearly unnoticeable if someone was unaware. With pepper, he spread it over the black counters and with brown sugar, he coated the wooden surfaces. He sealed the windows just a bit so an outside breeze wouldn't blow away his camouflaged powders. If there had been more time, he would have preferred using a coating of dust to figure out where Eames placed the boat keys but he hadn't the time to wait for a coating of dust to build.

When Eames returned and lay with him, Arthur couldn't resist a goofy smirk on his face, "What's so funny, beloved?" Eames cooed into his ear as he continued rutting into him, jerking him off as he did and twisting his nipple with the other hand.

"Nothing," Arthur gasped through a throaty moan, his bound hands wrapping around Eames's neck. _You're only playing along. Don't get lost in it_.

As he planned, when Eames had left again, Arthur checked all the coated surfaces. Sure enough, on a wooden coffee table hidden behind the couch, the telltale markings of keys interrupted the even layer of brown sugar he had applied. The day Eames was supposed to return, Arthur took hourly doses of heavy caffeine to make sure he could stay awake after Eames had fallen asleep.

The night Eames returned, Arthur had never been more anxious. That night, he played the sweet whore to Eames's desires, indulging him with whatever he wanted. He needed all his energy for tomorrow and he couldn't let Eames beat him into submissions as he usually did. That night felt _too good_. Eames was slow, Arthur was wanton. The two matched low, throaty moans with their thrusts and when they came, they both savoured it and milked it for pleasure.

"I love you," Eames whispered into Arthur's ear, laying on top of him and shutting his eyes.

Even with his mind hazy from the intense pleasure, Arthur used sheer willpower to force himself to realize that _this man is monster_. He shut his eyes, feigning sleep till he could hear Eames on top of him. Eames always had a habit of letting his mouth drop open when he was in a deep enough sleep. Arthur used it as his signal to creep out from under his arms and make for the door. With the metal wing, lubricated again with soap, Arthur dislodged the lock and exited quietly.

With silent steps, Arthur snuck over to the coffee table behind the couch. He gasped, _no keys_. He looked around. There was only the moonlight to guide him; he was too afraid to turn on the light and alert Eames. He spotted Eames's briefcase by the door and rushed to it immediately, fumbling as he unlatched it and searched through it.

 _Papers, reports, records, nothing!_ Arthur screamed in his mind, emptying the entire case to find anything he could use. It didn't make sense for Eames to not have his phone on him. How would he receive clients then? His sugar trick worked well enough; he had found where Eames placed his keys. He could only come to one single conclusion.

Eames's hand clamped down on his shoulder, "Aren't you missing something?" He held up the other half of the origami figure, _the part Arthur completely overlooked_.

Arthur screamed and thrashed when the hand at his shoulder clamped over his mouth while the other circled around his waist, lifting him and carrying him back to the room. Eames hurled him onto the bed and instantly, Arthur flipped himself over and scrambled off the bed. Eames grabbed his ankle, sitting onto the small of his back and grabbing his wrists.

"Naughty, naughty," He said with a chuckle, "I knew you'd come up with some elaborate escape plan, Arthur," He took out a small metal key from his pocket, "What gave you away was how friendly you were the last few nights. I could tell you were trying to save your energy," He undid the handcuffs, immediately catching his wrists after and twisting him onto his back, "I saw that broken totem earlier. I figured you were going to use it to kill me but when I saw the soap on the lock, I knew you must've used it to break out," When Arthur began struggling wildly, Eames grabbed his head and forced his face flat into the blanket, suffocating him. Arthur thrashed around weakly, trying to breathe. Only when his struggling began to weaken did Eames release. He cuffed his hands behind his back shortly after, "See, Arthur?" Eames said, laying flat against him on the bed, "You could've took a knife and killed me when you escaped this room but you didn't. You _love_ me. You need me,"

Arthur spat into Eames's face as he twisted himself around. He had nothing else to lose; there was no reason to play nice anymore, "I will never love you," He growled, "I love Eames. The _real_ Eames, not you! You're nothing but a forgery gone wrong!" The pressure from his back removed itself. The ominous feeling creeping up on him never left, "Eames?" Arthur murmured, his voice trembling.

A belt was wound around his neck, Eames's belt, and jerked backwards, choking him. Arthur struggled violently on his stomach, unable to spit out a single sound as he belt choked him hard. Eames's knee was on his back, pinning him to the bed and nearly snapping his spine. Arthur's vision was beginning to spin, his throat felt like it was being crushed slowly and his lungs were burning hard and threatening to burst. When he was about to lose consciousness, Eames released the belt, letting Arthur breathe but only barely before he tore off Arthur's dress shirt and whipped his bareback hard.

"Ah!" Arthur cried out, flopping around on the bed like a fish as the belt whipped at his flesh relentlessly, "Stop! Stop!" He screamed over and over. On the contrary, the lashes came hard and faster. When his back was an exploding mass of pain and his blood began dripping onto the sheets, Arthur lost himself in hysteria, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," He mumbled fast. He howled in pain as the belt came down against the backs of his knees and then his thighs, calves, everywhere.

The sliver of light under the door was the only thing Arthur could keep his eyes on. By the time Eames was satisfied, the sliver was golden with daybreak's glow. Lashes were littered all over his back, his bound arms, his hands, his buttocks, the back of his legs, _everywhere_. Arthur lay in bed, lungs exhausted from screaming and mouth dry from pleading. He merely gritted his teeth and trembled violently, twitching from the mere thought of the belt which Eames had now tossed onto the floor.

"Arthur, beloved," Arthur twitched as if Eames had screamed the words at him, "Do you love me?"

He was in too much pain to resist, "Yes," He choked out, biting into the mattress to suppress a sob. Eames grabbed his throbbing arm and pushed him over to the front of the bed, laying his head down on the pillow so his tortured back made no contact to the bed. He felt Eames curl around him, wrapping his strong arms around his body lovingly which made him shudder from the stinging pain. Anytime Arthur dipped into rest, a tremor of pain would always wake him.

The next morning, or whenever Arthur had the energy to stay awake. Arthur sat up slowly, making sure not to put any pressure on his wounds. He took deep, heaving breaths, trying to calm himself from what had just happened last night. The origami totem was gone and Eames would never again risk giving Arthur his means of escape.

His body jolted as the door swung open. Eames held a tray with sizzling breakfast foods that would have made Arthur's mouth salivate had it not been completely dried due to last night's activities, "Good morning beloved, I made breakfast for you,"

Breakfast in bed. The gesture would've been affectionate had the situation been different. Instead, Arthur merely screamed hoarsely and buried his face into his pillow. _Will this nightmare ever end?_

With his wrists bound behind his back, Arthur became completely dependent on Eames. The most he could do was use the toilet or douse himself with water from the shower. He needed Eames hands to do everything else: scrub his hair, scrub his body, shave his face, feed him, _dress him_. When Eames left on a job, he always left behind soft foods and soups which Arthur lapped at with his tongue like a dog in order to eat. Bathing was impossible with his bound hands. He doused himself with water and dried himself by rolling onto a towel he laid out on the bed. At the end of every day, Arthur lay on the bed face down, back still throbbing, and prayed for some miracle to save him.

His body was getting weaker. No matter how much Arthur wanted to rebel, wanted to kick Eames right in the genitals anytime he laid his hands on him, his body resisted. Even the mere thought of rebellion sent the painful memory of endless lashes through the frayed nerves on his back. Still, if his body could not revolt, Arthur would use his voice to.

Arthur was harsh with all his responses. He always matched Eames in terms of eloquence in speech, matching Bane would be no problem. Even if it led to a beating or harsh sex, Arthur stopped caring. He was losing his mind. He'd rather have it beaten out of him than have it slowly slip away. Just as Eames knew all his hotspots, Arthur knew exactly how to press all his buttons. He'd start off with talking about Neil and how Neil would never love the man he became. He'd then talk about Adrian, saying how much better he felt in bed. He wouldn't talk of Ariadne despite how sore a topic she must've been for Eames. The last thing he wanted to do was have Eames take out his anger on her. He'd finally push Eames over the edge with 'Tommy' and how Bane was a mere shell of what Tommy used to be. Arthur made it clear to him that he'd never belong to Bane. Even if he brainwashed him and claimed every part of his body, there are pieces of Arthur that will remain safely guarded by others.

After a week of heartbreak and ruthlessness, Eames returned from a job with a leather gag, gagging Arthur and ending his tirade of harsh words. The gag only came off whenever Eames fed Arthur. He kept him gagged even when he went off on a job which meant Arthur could be unfed for days, sometimes an entire week. The holes in his gag provided enough passage for water to flow through but that was all Arthur had to consume for those days.

By the time Eames returned, Arthur was too weak to fight, too weak to talk with the gag off. For the night Eames returns from a job, he had successfully robbed Arthur the ability to resist him at all. Duly noted, Arthur promised to compensate for this, spitting harsher and harsher words whenever he had the energy to before the gag came on again. It only became harder and harder to keep his promises to himself.

When a heavy storm had overtaken the island, Eames was forced to cancel all of his clients for the week. For almost entire days, he spent his time in Arthur's room. His favourite position was sitting on the bed with Arthur laying on his chest, situated between his legs. From that position, he'd do everything with him. He'd trace his fingers over Arthur's body, massaging his sore muscles, grinning whenever Arthur would squeal beneath his gag.

"Would you like to speak?" Eames asked, stroking his face gently.

Arthur, too weak to think of spiteful comments, nodded anyway. The gag left an unappetizing taste of leather in his mouth. Eames removed the gag and set it aside, using one hand to massage his lips and moisten his tongue.

"Say something to me," Eames commanded, wrapping both arms around Arthur's waist, "Beloved, what do you want?"

He wasn't going to submit. He'd never submit. Even if it made life easier, it wasn't worth it.

"Please let me go," Arthur pleaded weakly, "I want to leave. Please, please," He continued babbling on weakly, stray tears falling from his eyes as he did.

Eames laid him down on the bed, stroking his face gently like a cat, "So you're still resisting me. Commendable, you've endured for sixth months. Are you aware of that?" Arthur shook his head. He barely knew the time of day, "So alike to Mr. Eames, I resent that," He reached down, stroking Arthur's cock absently, listening to him cry out, "I am sorry it had to come down to this,"

Eames left him alone for the remainder of the week, dropping off containers of food whenever he slept. The gag remained on the bed stand till Arthur spotted it and kicked it into the corner.

 

_"Did you get all the details you needed about Fischer's inception from his memories?"_

_"More than enough, it'll suffice as payment,"_

_"Very well, Barsad, then shall we begin?"_

_"Of course but I am a bit unsure. They used three levels. The sedation prepared will only be enough to generate two levels,"_

_"Do not worry. Two levels with suffice as long as we plant the right ideas in the right place,"_

_"As you wish, you're the expert here. Don't forget my twenty thousand,"_

_"At the end of each day, I guarantee,"_

 

"Eames!" Arthur shouted, slamming down on the gas as a gunman pointed his submachine gun into the car. Like a knight in shining armor, Eames leapt up from his seat and shot the gunman at point blank range. Arthur sped away fast, almost crashing into a bus in front of them, "Are you alright?" Arthur shouted, voice hoarse, too hoarse.

"I'm fine. Fischer's fine too, unless he gets carsick," Relief struck Arthur like a cool breeze. For a second, he thought he would have been lost in limbo due to a critical research error on his part.

...which made it all the stranger when Cobb, shoving Eames against the car, revealed for the first time that they had been heavily sedated. Everyone looked surprised, baffled, but Arthur knew perfectly well what was going on. A command from Cobb distracted him. He tossed his point man a baklava and the two went to shake up Fischer.

With projections closing in and limbo dangling beneath them, Arthur had to make quick work of the armed projections closing in on the warehouse. With his assault rifle, Arthur sniped at the shooter on the roof. Unfortunately, the shooter was equally as skilled at taking cover and timing his shots to avoid Arthur's.

"You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger," Eames's sultry voice distracted him, as it always did, "Beloved,"

"Beloved?" Arthur said. The pet name clashed with his expectation. At close inspection, Ariadne who was frazzled but still stable looked far more nervous than she should have been. Cobb looked angrier, like he was clearly unhappy with someone. He had only seen those expressions in one context in his life: When they had to deal with Bane.

The totem in his pocket, the weight of the die felt right. That was wrong. It shouldn't feel right at all. They were in Yusuf's dreamscape. Arthur took the gun from Cobb's belt and shot himself.

 

"Mr. Riordan, are you ready?" A bearded man said to him. Arthur had never met this man before but he'd heard from reports that he was an excellent extractor. The man sat reclined in a chair beside him, IV already in place.

"Right," Arthur said, "Eames? Are you ready?"

Eames smiled to him playfully, "Peachy,"

"Ariadne?" Arthur looked to their architect. That same anxious expression was on her again. He worked with Ariadne the closest during the inception job. He memorized all her tiny habits: a shy smile when starting the PASIV, a confident nod when she was asked to confirm something. This anxious, frightened Ariadne was not natural.

"I'm ready," She replied, placing her totem on the desk beside her for each reach.

"Shall we then, darling?" Eames said, reaching a hand over to start the PASIV.

"Not yet," Arthur said, reaching for his totem in his pocket. The weight was right; the number he rolled was right; then why did everything feel so wrong? He glanced over to Ariadne's token. He hadn't touched it before but he had seen her use it after going under. It was a bishop chess piece that wouldn't roll when it was tipped over. He had seen the function, Ariadne had seen it, but he doubted anyone else had.

Arthur tore the IV from his arm, reached over, and knocked over the bishop. His eyes followed it as it fell onto the table and rolled onto the ground. He glared at Eames, kicking himself off the lawn chair, reaching for a gun, and shooting himself in the head.

 

"You two-faced slag!" Adrian struck Arthur across the face, knocking him into the kitchen counter. Fine china was crushed beneath Arthur's weight. The shards pierced his skin and made him cry out.

Arthur held himself up on his elbows, pushing away from the counter, "It was a mistake. I'm sorry," He pleaded. Adrian grabbed a handful of his hair and forced him down, pressing his face into a shard of porcelain. He bit down on his lip, swallowing a cry when Adrian pressed his cheek further into a shard with a hand over his temple.

"I turn my back on your for one second and you're out fucking every man in the neighbourhood who looks at you," Adrian hissed, "If you weren't such a good fuck and pretty face, I would've thrown you out years ago,"

There was a loud pounding at the door, "Adrian, open up!" It was Eames's voice, loud and angry, "You bastard, you better not have hurt him!"

Adrian scoffed, dragging Arthur off the counter by his hair. The point man struggled, gripping at Adrian's hands as it pried locks of hair from his head, "Eames? You're fucking that worthless bastard? Pathetic,"

_Eames, Eames, Eames..._

"You never call him Eames," Arthur murmured. Adrian was a man who preferred a first-name basis. He felt that it helped promote kinship amongst the team as opposed to using formal last names. It didn't take long for Arthur to find a gun and shoot himself.

 

Eric couldn't control his tears as he stood before Brian Lackey's tombstone. His casket was being lowered in slowly. Neil kept his eyes glued to it, unable to pry away. If things were just a little different, it could have been him in there. He could barely imagine the pain of having your innocence torn away in seconds by mere words. It took him a year for the memories to finally take control of him.

Rain fell upon the cemetery. Wendy wrapped her arms around Eric and cradled him, telling him that everything will be alright. It wasn't going to be alright. Neil wasn't going to be alright, _ever_. He wanted arms around him, protecting him. He knew in seconds, he would crumble and join the fallen angel in his grave.

"Neil?" Tommy's voice cut through the harsh rain. Tommy was dressed only in a grey hooded sweater and jeans. Certainly he was not here for the funeral, "Oh my god, I found you," He said, cutting through the people, "I checked every house looking for you. How have you been?"

At the sight of his true love, Neil burst into tears and covered his face. Wendy looked on, concerned, but already caring for a sorrowful friend, "I can't do this," Neil cried, thinking about Brian curled up on the couch weeping into his lap.

"Neil..." Tommy muttered, wrapping his arms around the trembling man, shielding him from the rain, "Neil, I'll always be here for you. I promise," Neil hugged him tighter and tighter, unable to get enough of Tommy's comforting warmth.

In the midst of the kind embrace, Tommy nudged Neil's shoulder and directed him to Eric, "He's burying something in the grave," He watched at Eric removed his class ring and placed it on top of the casket, wiping away his tears and whispering his final goodbyes to his friend, "You want to put anything in?"

Neil couldn't think of anything. He wanted to put his most treasured keepsake into the grave to show Brian how much he meant to him despite knowing him for barely a year. He reached into his shirt, taking off the dog tag engraved with 'Tommy Conlon'. Tommy smiled sadly, holding Neil close as he played with the dog tag in his hand.

"Is that what means the most to you?" Tommy said, "I'm flattered,"

"Of course," Neil whispered. He held the dog tag above the grave, about to drop it onto the casket. He stopped when he eyed the class ring again. His eyes darted to Eric's hand with completely bare fingers. His eyes returned to the class ring before scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

Neil retracted his arm, holding the dog tag close to his chest. Tommy looked to him, "Neil? What's the matter?"

"Where's Hal?" He said. Eric met Hal during the year Brian still lived. Three months into their relationship, they swapped class rings.

It was harder this time but Arthur eventually figured out a way to die by throwing himself in front of a truck.

 

" _Darling_ ," Eames cooed playfully into Arthur's ear, "Time to wake up, sleepyhead," He slipped back under the sheets, nipping at Arthur's skin playfully.

Arthur chuckled, rolling over to smack Eames gently over the head, "Stop that. It tickles," A goofy smile was on his face as Eames stood, stretching as he fetched his pants from the floor.

"What's the plan for today, love?" Eames asked, fixing the drawstring of his pajama pants.

Arthur reached for his blackberry on the desk, "Breakfast at 8:00 AM, and then a play at 10," He looked to the clock, "Maybe we could skip the breakfast, I'm not hungry,"

"Nonsense," Eames said in the sexiest voice he could make, "You're always hungry," He placed a finger to Arthur's lips, smiling when the point man's tongue darted out and suckled on it. He leaned in and kissed Arthur passionately, "Arthur, do you love me?"

Arthur didn't respond, too busy reciprocating the kiss and leaving butterfly kisses all over his face and neck. _Butterfly kisses_... Arthur's hand reached down to trace Eames's jaw, pressing into the butterfly tattoo there. _No, this was gone_. He pulled away from Eames suddenly, observing the room they were in. He assumed it was some hotel but at closer inspection, he realized it was Tommy's old apartment only cleaner and brighter. The photo of his comrade Manny was still on the bedstead. _No, Tommy sold the apartment. He left it to go to train for Sparta._ Had Eames restored the apartment?

_No, this is my most secure room. The place where I felt most safe..._

Arthur scrambled away from Eames, covering himself with the blanket.

"Darling?"

"Don't darling me!" Arthur barked, backing away from Eames, "You, you're trying to incept an idea," He almost fell for it. He almost fell back in love with 'Eames'. Without a gun on hand, Arthur threw himself out the window, plummeting to the ground head first.

 

Arthur gasped as he awoke, ripping the IV from his arm, "Arthur?" Ariadne said, taking his arm, "Are you alright? What happened?" Arthur scanned his surroundings, watching as Yusuf examined Eames intently while Cobb stood by the side, "Did you find Eames?" She had bandages on her face with old wounds visible beneath her collar.

That was right. He was trying to find Eames, trying to save him. Their first extraction was a completely failure. They ended up losing Adrian in the process. This time, they tried it again but with Cobb as the head and in a public building so there'd be no where to escape to. Arthur couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't had Cobb help in the first place.

"I think I found him," Arthur said, "I panicked and I killed myself,"

"Is there a way we can check that he's the real Eames?" Cobb asked, arms still folded, "Any information that only the real Eames would know?"

Arthur concentrated, trying to remember what Yusuf had told him earlier, "Bane is unaware of any memories that happened after Eames sealed him away. He's also unaware of any time Eames was conscious, just as how Eames was unaware of whatever Bane did when Bane had taken over,"

"Do you remember anything?"

Arthur pondered, thinking about something specific enough for Eames to remember, "During the job with the double extraction, the one with Mal, you, and Adrian, I was the one who signed Eames onto the project."

"We can roll with that," Cobb replied, "Yusuf?"

"I think he's waking," Yusuf said, securing the padded cuffs around his wrists, "Eames?"

The forger groaned, opening his eyes slowly, "Is that you, Yusuf?" He mumbled, looking around the room at everyone around him, "What's going on?"

Yusuf knelt in front of him, talking slowly so Eames could catch up, "Eames, during the extraction mission with Cobb, Mal, and Adrian, who was the one who signed you onto the project?"

Eames let out a short chuckle, keeping his eyes closed, "Arthur, darling, of course. He couldn't resist being away from me," Everyone gasped. This had to be their Eames.

Arthur moved to embrace him, rushing forward only to be stopped by Cobb. Ariadne and Yusuf were taking off the cuffs, nearly in tears of happiness. Eames leaned forward, embracing Ariadne lovingly and patting Yusuf on the back like a long lost brother.

"Cobb?" Arthur said.

"That's not who I am at all, is it," Cobb's voice was a whisper, his face was completely stoic. Cobb was completely serious, "My name is Mr. Charles,"

Arthur blinked, watching him intently, "You're the head of my subconscious security," He quoted Cobb back when the extractor had first introduced this gambit to him during the Stein job.

"Someone is accessing your mind right now. You need to wake up," Cobb withdrew his totem from his coat and spun it on the desk beside them. It didn't stop spinning. He took out a gun next, shooting Arthur in the head.

 

Arthur gasped as he awoke, body soaked in a cold sweat. His forearms were tied face up on the handles of the leather chair he sat upon. He was wearing a bathrobe, covering his naked body. He thrashed wildly, trying to free himself. The IV needle dug painfully into his arm as if it had been applied several times.

Several times. The memories came back quickly. He had sat here for hours as Eames continuously tried prying into his mind with false scenarios, "Stop it," He gasped, "Stop! Stop! I can't take it anymore! Stop!"

"Barsad, that is enough for today. He'll be mentally exhausted if we continue with anymore attempts," Eames said as he removed the IV from his arm.

"He's very good at defending his subconscious," The bearded man beside Eames replied as he took the IV out from Arthur's arm, "Shall I come back tomorrow? I can bring a stronger sedative if need be,"

"That'd be great. Thanks," Eames said as Barsad left the room and eventually the island, "Arthur, beloved, you've got an extraordinary mind," He reached down and caressed his sweat soaked face, "Why don't I wash you off now?" He untied Arthur who couldn't stop trembling from the mental torture they had put him through.

Arthur knew that wasn't the worst of it. They weren't trying to brainwash him. They were trying to pull off an inception. As Eames scrubbed his hair clean, Arthur dug deep into his mind and tried to recall his dreams. Tommy's apartment, Brian's grave, they were using his most secure memories against him. Over and over again, his immaculate ability to spot details saved him from falling into their tricks. It was only near the end when his mind was too tired to concentrate did a secondary protection kick in. 'Mr. Charles', who knew a gambit could translate itself into security?

The next day, after a breakfast of hash browns, eggs, and bacon courtesy of Barsad, the trials began again. Revising their previous strategy, they decided to use horror imagery this time to shock Arthur into mental submission in the first level. By the time he was placed in the second level, Arthur was already mentally broken from the terror of the first. He had no eye for detail, even when he accidentally knocked over Ariadne's totem and it rolled away into an sewer grate.

However, 'Mr. Charles' returned. Cobb, in the middle of issuing commands to Arthur, held out his palm and revealed a permanently spinning top, "Remember where you are," Arthur took the top from his hand and shot himself in the head, bringing the spinning top with him into the first level.

Strategies were changing fast. During a failed job on the CEO of Symbiotic-Technologies, Arthur was quickly packing away his equipment. He had worked solo with Eames before but he had never once failed so spectacularly quickly. Security was coming up fast; they had to leave now. A gunshot rang out, Eames tackled Arthur down but the bullet still managed to pierce his shoulder.

"Darling," Eames shouted, rushing to him and lifting him by his good arm, "Shit, we have to leave now," He dragged the wounded point man through the snow, seating him onto a snowmobile before climbing in front of him, "Hang on," He said, worried, as he started the snowmobile and drove fast, "There's a hospital up in these parts. I'll bring you there,"

The wound in his shoulder was throbbing with excess pain. Arthur could barely concentrate on the floor let alone Eames's words. By the time the snowmobile stopped, Arthur was only just conscious. Eames lifted Arthur into his arms and carried him into the fortress-like hospital.

Cobb greeted them, "Come on, this way!" He shouted, running deeper into the hospital as the two followed.

"Eames," Arthur whispered, clinging to him with his good arm.

"I'm here for you, always here," Had Arthur been able to concentrate, he would've have noticed that this room was another exact replica of the fortress used in Robert Fischer's inception. He carried the wounded point man towards the giant safe, "Here, this is where the beds are," Eames said, opening the safe with a pass code, "525, correct?" Eames said to Arthur who only mumbled weakly in reply.

Before the safe could open, an assailant slid down from the air vent and shot Eames in the back, knocking him out. Arthur gasped, turning to see the assailant and drawing his gun. A head of wild, red hair distracted him, "Mal?"

Cobb had his gun drawn, ready to shoot her down. _He'd never shoot her, not even when it meant everything to_. Arthur had his gun up already, shooting down 'Cobb'. The extractor fell, flickering back into Barsad's image as he did. Mal turned to Arthur, coy smile on her face.

"Mrs. Charles, I presume?" Arthur said, the pain in his shoulder subsiding. He raised the gun to his temple and shot himself once more.

"Hampering his concentration is not working," The voice sounded garbled, as if Arthur was listening to him through a helmet of jelly, "His secondary security kicks in."

"Isolate him, prevent him from meeting 'Mr. Charles',"

"Dangerous-"

"-worth the-too risky-job done,"

"the-lid-air-"

A ringtone cut through the garbled dialogue, startling Arthur but still not enough to shake him free of the drug-induced haze.

"Give me a second," Footsteps left the room, answering the phone from outside.

_The forger has a phone on him_

If he'd forget everything else that happened this day, then so be it but he had to keep that one fact engraved in him. The darkness returned to him shortly after, throwing his life into insanity once again.

The day ended unceremoniously. Arthur sat, bound to the chair, panting and sobbing as Barsad packed up the PASIV. When Eames's hand came down to comfort him, Arthur lashed out, biting at his fingers just to prove to him that he still resisted him and that his attempts were futile. Eames retracted, wrapping his fingers in a cloth before smacking Arthur across the face.

Barsad watched from afar, obviously disturbed but paid far too much to back away, "Eames," He said, standing with the PASIV tucked away in a suitcase, "I'm having reservations about how you are treating him,"

"This is not of your concern," Eames replied, "Everything to do with Arthur belongs only to me,"

Arthur locked eyes with Barsad, pleading with him. The mercenary forger , obviously moved in some way, pulled his gaze off him, saluting Eames before leaving the room. The point man looked fearfully up at Eames, squealing loudly as the leather gag was fastened over his mouth again, punishment for biting his master's hand.

At the core of it all, Arthur could only think about how inhumane inception was. He couldn't help but think if Fischer's life truly had gotten better or if he'd ended up crashing and burning after dissolving his father's company. Inception had the ability to take away one's free will _without them even know_. He swore to himself never to try it again, even if it was for the better of their client.

For the entire night, Eames left Arthur bound in the chair waiting for Barsad to return. In the morning, Eames went to prepare breakfast for all three of them. Barsad entered Arthur's room alone, preparing the PASIV.

A weak, muffled groan came from Arthur's lips. Barsad looked to him, staring into the pained, pleading eyes. He could tell Arthur was far too weak to escape.

"If I unbind you, will you stay still when we prepare the PASIV?" Arthur nodded weakly. There was no point in running, Arthur knew that already. For today, Barsad released his bonds and removed the gag from him. He took Arthur from the seat, laying him onto the bed gently.

"Thank you," Arthur sighed, reclining in the bed and stretching weakly.

_The forger has a phone on him_

His eyes shot open, looking down to Barsad's pocket to see the outline of a phone just against his outer thigh. His only chance of escape was a mere arm's reach away. He couldn't though, not while Eames and Barsad were awake. He lifted his arm allowing Barsad to insert the needle and seal it in place. He had to work fast despite the exhaustion gnawing at his limbs. The moment Barsad turned away to prep the machine, Arthur grabbed the needle from his arm and jerked forward just enough so the tip no longer rested inside his flesh.

Eames entered shortly after, clearly disgruntled at how Barsad had untied Arthur. _No one should give him relief but me_. He kept his mouth shut though. Barsad was necessary for his mission, "Breakfast, beloved," He said, settling one tray in front of Barsad and the other in front of Arthur. Arthur almost laughed at the sight of Barsad nearly choking on the oatmeal slop in his bowl.

As soon as breakfast was done, Eames lay down on the bed beside Arthur and secured an IV to his arm, "Barsad, ready,"

"Very well," The forger-extractor said, "We run with the Slate tactic," Arthur had no idea what he meant. He didn't really care. As soon as the forger-extractor depressed the button, Eames and Barsad were asleep leaving Arthur completely awake.

It wouldn't be long before Eames figured it out, noticing the lack of projections around them. Arthur rushed over to Barsad, digging his fingers into his pockets and withdrawing the phone. He considered calling Cobb, telling him what had happened but he couldn't risk Eames waking up before the call could even get through. He sent him a text message in case " _Help me -A_ ". As soon as he sent the message, he slipped the phone back into Barsad's pocket.

When he heard the two men stir, Arthur played at tampering with the PASIV. Eames grabbed him and tackled him to the floor, pinning him with his bulk, "Can't breathe," Arthur gasped out, scratching at the carpet beneath him.

"Smart little minx," Eames hissed into Arthur's ear as he further pressed him into the carpet, "Barsad, you're free for the day. I must punish my misbehaving lover,"

Barsad shrugged, packing up his PASIV, "As long as I get my money," His eyes locked with Arthur's once more. Barsad's eyes were cold, calculated, but Arthur could tell that Barsad hadn't accidentally slipped up. Some part of him pitied him, just enough to let him attempt an escape. As soon as Barsad's gaze left, as soon as Arthur heard the forger-extractor exit the cottage, all security dissipated. He looked to Eames, terrifying and menacing, and awaited his punishment. It didn't surprise him that a portion of his mind was praying to god that he'd survive this day.

He had no time to plead, beg, or even spit at Eames. A blindfold was pulled over his eyes, his wrists were handcuffed together, and he was dangled in the shower stall, arms twisted and bound painful around the shower head.

"Beloved, know that his hurts me more than it hurts you," Eames cooed into his ear, stroking his chest.

"Fuck you," Arthur's voice was not as threatening as he had hoped it to be, "You get off on this!" The gag came over his mouth, restraining his ability to speak again.

"If you just accepted my love and gave in, this would be a lot easier for you," Eames said, whispering into his ear before pulling away and starting the shower.

Searing hot water doused Arthur so suddenly that he screamed into the gag. He struggled hard but only managed to flail around from he was hung. The water was brutally hot and felt like burning knives carving into his skin. It only took him mere minutes later before his whole body began shaking uncontrollably. His flesh turned a harsh, painful pink and he could feel tremors riveting through his body like a volcanic earthquake.

By the time Eames removed him from the shower stall, his body was trembling so hard that he couldn't even stand. He crumpled into Eames's embrace. The man's body heat felt like a furnace pressed to his skin. He tried to claw his Eames's shirt to secure his grip. His hands merely twitched at an attempt to clench his fingers. The blindfold was heavy with water, stinging his eyes painfully with its burning touch.

Eames chuckled cruelly as he dragged Arthur out from the bathroom. He tossed him onto the bed, loosening the blindfold so he could stare into his fear-filled eyes, "Learned your lesson, beloved?"Arthur couldn't even nod. A spasm came whenever he tried to move his head followed by numb pain and endless tremors, "I believe you," He said, stroking Arthur's face before handcuffing one wrist to a bedpost.

Arthur screamed through the gag again as Eames began cuffing his limbs to the bedposts till he lay on the bed spread eagle. His body still trembled violently but now the cuffs kept him relatively restrained.

 _No, no, no, no,_ Arthur murmured in his mind as Eames took the belt off his pants. He screamed into the gag, _Eames! Eames!_ No one was going to protect him now. He froze when Eames's hand touched his stomach and traced upwards to his chest, the touch was painful despite the gentleness of the gesture.

"This is a lesson, beloved,"

 

"What the fuck did you do to him?" Arthur woke to this familiar voice. It was Barsad's despite the uncharacteristic surprised tone.

"He won't try to escape again. Now, is the PASIV ready to go?"

"You did this to him? Can he even move anymore?" Arthur felt a warm hand at his wrist, feeling it with his fingers, "His heartbeat is barely there. Are you sure he's stable enough to go under?"

"He'll be fine. All wounds are merely surface wounds. The rest of his body is intact,"

"This whip lashes look fairly deep, he might have a few fractured ribs as well," Hands prodded at his swollen wrist. Arthur let out a muffled, raspy grunt at the touch. His wrist was broken, definitely. The lashes on his body were awful, Arthur could tell, but the worst was done to his face. A thick lash from his cheek to his temple had knocked him unconscious during the torture and now throbbed painfully.

"Will those injuries pose a problem?"

"No, but they're disconcerting," A shot of pain came through his arm as the IV was inserted into the torn tissue, "Are you ready, Eames?"

"Ready,"

 

_"Freeze! Get down on the fucking ground!"_

_"Arthur? Oh my god, Arthur!"_

_"Get him to the boat immediately. He needs medical attention_ now _!"_

_"Bane, you bastard!"_

_"Ariadne? Call Saito. He'll get us to a secure hospital. Restrain him! He's not getting away,"_

_"Arthur, you're safe now. You're with us,"_

_"Arthur..."_

 

"Arthur!" Ariadne's voice cut through the darkness. Arthur was welcomed by the sight of a pristine hospital room with Ariadne sitting by his bed, "Cobb, he's awake!" There was a shuffle outside but Cobb had yet to enter, "Arthur, can you speak? Do you know where you are right now?" Arthur shook his head weakly to the second question, "You're at Gotham General Hospital. You've got some really bad wounds on you and there's an excess of somnacin inside your body. They've been flushing it out slowly,"

"Eames?" Arthur whispered, searching the room.

Ariadne was quiet, looking away, "Bane's in the other room. We have him restrained,"

That was right. _Bane_ had taken over Eames's body. Through his months of hell as the madman's pet, he had completely forgotten about this fact. _Eames was still trapped inside his mind_. The thought of it made him cry. He nearly lost his mind and Eames was still out of his reach.

"Arthur," Ariadne said, wrapping his arms around him gently as he cried. From her pocket, she withdrew a bundle of cloth, "Here, we found your totem in the cottage," The totem was useless by now but the sentiment behind it remained. He took the totem into his hands, rolling it in his palm.

Arthur pulled away weakly, "Am I still dreaming?" He whispered. Bane had repeatedly used this gambit against him, tricking him into thinking he was rescued and that his Eames had returned.

"You're awake,"

"How do I tell?" Arthur gasped, dropping his totem and squirming back in his bed, "I can't tell. I don't know anymore," He tried to concentrate on Ariadne and map the inconsistencies but everything was perfectly in order. Had Bane's forgeries gotten better?

"Arthur, you're awake," Cobb's voice alerted him. The extractor stepped into the room. He was cleanly shaven but definitely looked more exhausted than he used to be.

"Mr. Charles," Arthur whispered, staring straight at Cobb. His gambit had became his totem in the dream world. He really had to thank Cobb for that when he woke up, "I'm dreaming, right?"

Cobb shook his head slowly, "No, Arthur. This is real. Its Dominic Cobb, remember?"

"Prove it," Arthur muttered, "Let me see your totem,"

Cobb withdrew the top from his pocket and spun it on a counter surface. No matter how hard Arthur concentrated, the top eventually fell over. Again and again, Cobb repeated the action till Arthur was completely sure that this was reality.

"Oh thank god," Arthur sighed, shutting his eyes and reclining in the back.

"You're safe now, we promise," Ariadne said.

Arthur looked to both of them, a tired smile on his face, "How did you find me?" He had expected weeks before his rescue. The wounds on his body told him that his rescue came the day after he had sent the text message.

Cobb lifted his phone, "You sent the message, remember?" Arthur nodded weakly, "We've been searching for you for months. Ariadne contacted me shortly after you had been kidnapped. Yusuf and I have been running around looking for sources. No luck at all, unfortunately, Bane covered his tracks well,"

"As soon as I got out of the hospital, I contacted a few architects I knew," Ariadne explained, "One of them told me of this point man who was also searching for Eames. We collaborated with him to find you," She gestured to Cobb's phone, "When your text message came in, he helped us trace the number and location to find you."

"He?"

"Harold Chen," Cobb said, "Though, he preferred using his real name,"

"You're up?" The voice was smooth, friendly but unrecognizable. Arthur looked up from the bed to see an aged, gruff looking man with a head of wild black hair and frameless glasses. He would have been completely unfamiliar if he hadn't been carrying around his laptop with him. Arthur knew only one man who carried his laptop everywhere.

"Hal," Arthur said.

"Neil," Hal said, fixing his glasses, "Been a while,"

The wedding ring on his finger made Arthur smile, "Sorry I missed the wedding. I was on the run,"

"Fair enough," Hal replied, apathetic if not a bit bitter, "We can catch up later. They're clearing things out from the cabin and I'd like to take a look," He didn't bother with a goodbye; he left the room in a huff.

Ariadne and Cobb were a bit surprised at the clinical treatment of their relationship. Arthur leaned back in his bed, "He used to be friendlier. He's half the reason I got arrested and into the dream business." The other half was Tommy, of course.

"Mr. Riordan? You have a visitor. She says she came all the way from New York to see you," The nurse said.

"Wendy?" No, he couldn't let her see him now, not like this. She didn't want to worry her anymore than he already had, "Can you tell her I'm busy?"

Ariadne nodded, "I'll do it," She didn't back out of her chair. Instead, she grabbed the concealed wheels of the seat and rolled towards the door.

Arthur was shocked speechless. He hadn't noticed at all that Ariadne was on a wheelchair. This was his fault, completely his fault: Adrian dead and Ariadne wheelchair-bound, "Oh my god, Ariadne, I'm so sorry,"

The young architect looked over her shoulder and gave him a small smile, "It's alright," She wheeled out of the room, Arthur's eyes still glued on her.

"Don't blame yourself," Cobb said, patting his shoulder gently, "At least you let her know the risks," Cobb continued to pat his back soothingly as Arthur crumpled in on himself and sobbed dryly into one hand.

"Eames, where is Eames?"

"Secure, thanks to Saito," Cobb said, taking a seat on the desk beside the bed, "He's got a lot of money on his head right now. Saito paid a lot of money to get him a secure hospital and have him admitted anonymously." Cobb smoothed his hair back, "A lot of my old colleagues are trying to get their hands on him. Apparently-"

"He's been working as a hit man, specializing in assassinating dream workers," Arthur finished, "He told me all about it. Kept a box of their totems as _souvenirs_ ,"

Cobb groaned, shaking his head, "That sick bastard. Um, sorry,"

The two stewed in silence for a bit. Cobb played with his totem while Arthur stared at the ceiling blankly. He looked to Cobb, sadness in his eyes, "We're never going to save him, are we?"

Cobb looked to Arthur. Ariadne and Yusuf had filled him in on what had happened. A vicious split personality, omnipotent in the dreamscape, had trapped Eames in limbo and took over his entire life. Honestly, Cobb had no idea what to think.

"We never know,"

"Be honest," Arthur said, shutting his eyes, "He's shut us out from limbo. And even if we get there, we have no idea what's happened to Eames. By now, he could be exactly like Bane," He placed a hand to his eye, ignoring the stinging flesh on both surfaces, "Why didn't he tell me sooner? I could've helped him,"

"Maybe fighting against Bane in the dreamscape was the problem," Cobb said. Arthur immediately looked to him, "Maybe you should've fought him here, in reality, where you have the advantage," A spark of inspiration lit up in Arthur's eyes, "No, not until you're healthy,"

"Cobb, I can do it. Every second we spend up here, Eames is spending decades in limbo," Arthur pleaded, grabbing onto Cobb's arm despite the stinging wound on his palm, "Cobb, please,"

Cobb shook his head, "No. You're hurt, you've still got drugs swimming around in your system, and we don't know what damage Bane has done to your mind," Like a child, Arthur gave Cobb an innocent pout that made the extractor cringe, "Oh, god, stop that. You haven't done that in years," He still remember clearly his sad little pout when Mal was trying to convince him to make a simpler totem but Arthur was adamant in making a die.

"I've never been so desperate in years," Arthur replied, straightening his lip again before laying back in bed, "Fine, you're right. But as soon as I'm recovered, you bring me to Bane," Cobb pursed his lips, obviously reluctant, "Promise?" Cobb sighed heavily, smoothing back his hair and nodding, "Alright. I'll hold you to it,"

Ariadne wheeled again, "She left. She said she'll be staying in a motel around here,"

"Thanks Ariadne," Arthur said with a small smile, shutting his eyes.

"He needs his sleep," Cobb said, walking out and pushing Ariadne as he left. When the two were far away from Arthur's room, Cobb leaned down to her and whispered, "Keep an eye on him. I don't want him talking with Bane just yet."

"Fair enough, are we checking on Bane?" She asked. The alias Eames had dubbed his alter-ego was becoming more and more accustomed to their mouths.

"You want to?"

"I'd prefer to keep an eye on him,"

"Whatever you say, I'm going with you then," Cobb pushed her down the hall, wheeling her into the room just by the stairwell. He knocked on the door gently, "Nurse?" The nurse was out. Only Bane-in-Eames's skin was lying on the bed.

Bane looked up, his body and wrists held down with hospital restraints, "Ah, Cobb, Ariadne, what a pleasant surprise," His voice was snarky and sarcastic. He looked to Ariadne first, smirking with a laugh in his eye, "The young architect lives. I knew I should have been more thorough. And Mr. Dominic Cobb, you've foiled my plans in and out of the dream world. Congratulations, Mr. Charles,"

"Mr. Charles?" Cobb said, lifting a brow in query. He hadn't questioned Arthur's "Mr. Charles" outburst when he awakened. This was the ideal time to figure out exactly what had occurred.

"Did Arthur not tell you? Your little gambit became his secondary line of defense after I exhausted his mind. Something you're quite familiar with, right, Ariadne?" Bane smirked to the architect again, making Ariadne glare in return, "Mr. Charles, wandering in, reminding him that it was a dream before shooting him in the head. You made my job very, very difficult,"

Cobb snorted, "You're welcome,"

Bane threw his head back and laughed, loud, humourlessly, startling the two, "There were many hits on you, Dominic Cobb. If I had found you, I guarantee, I would have killed you first," He turned back to Ariadne, eyes wide and threatening, "And now that I know you're alive, I promise I will kill you. I'll take your head with me and your totem,"

"Shut your mouth!" Cobb hissed, reaching to grab Bane's collar only to be stopped by Ariadne.

"Cobb, he's provoking you," Ariadne said, stern-faced, "Bane," Bane cocked one-eyebrow up, impressed by the seriousness in her voice, "We will find a way to save Eames and if we can't, we'll make sure Arthur stays out of your grasp forever. We'll trap you in a world completely beyond your control, all alone, our world. That's my promise to you," She gestured to Cobb, the extractor pushed her out as Bane watched on, smirking.

Ariadne's phone had begun to buzz, she withdrew it from her pocket, "Saito's men have cleared out the cottage. He says there are some records we might find interesting there,"

"Very well, visiting hour is almost up anyway,"

"Cobb, Saito bought out the hospital. Visiting hour is whenever we want it to be,"  

"That man has way too much money,"

Cobb and Ariadne hadn't returned for the entire day. Arthur woke up alone in a dark room. The hospital had shut off all the lights for the night except for the hall guide lights. The nurse made hourly rounds, giving Arthur a one-hour interval to look for Bane's room. He slid off the bed slowly, careful not to press his wounds too hard against the floor. With weak grunts and twitches, Arthur fought through the lashes and stepped out of the room in a pair of sandals and a hospital gown. He figured he'd need at least half an hour to get to the other side of the hall where Bane's room was.

The sight of the light on and door shut at Bane's room made Arthur forget his pain and sprint. He tackled the door down, adrenaline masking his pain, and nearly slipped on the trinkets scattered all over the floor. _No, not trinkets, totems_.

"Eames?" Arthur called out instinctively.

The forger, face covered in bruises and lip split and bleeding, looked to Arthur with a smile, "Beloved, so good to see you,"

"Shut up!" Hal hissed, whipping him across the face again with his pistol.

Arthur rushed forward, grabbing Hal's gun arm and pulling back, "Hal, whoever paid you to do this, it's not worth it!" Cobb mentioned that Eames had plenty of hits on him. Hal had been nothing but aloof as well. Arthur should've called him out.

"No one's paying me anything!" Hal wrestled his arm away, pointing the pistol back at Bane. He reached into his trench coat, withdrawing a ring dangling from a chain necklace. The ring was so familiar. It was hollow; Arthur could see the inside of the metal through intricate carvings made upon them. The ring was notably small, far too small for him to wear now but definitely bigger than a child's ring. It seemed more fit for an age in-between, a teenage hand.

A class ring.

"No, no," Arthur gasped, eyes widening slowly.

"This bastard killed Eric," Hal said through gritted teeth, "Shot him dead, then took his totem," He dropped the class ring into Arthur's hand, letting him hold it close, "You don't even fucking remember, do you?"

Bane shrugged, "He was just another mark."

"Was it because of me?" Arthur choked out, grip tightening on the ring as he stumbled forward, "Because you didn't want to _share_ me. Is that why you killed him?" He dropped over on the side of the bed, supporting himself on his arms while he glared intensely into Bane's eyes.

"No, I promise. It was nothing personal."

"Don't lie to me!" Arthur barked, still glaring.

"I didn't even know his real name was Eric. I was told to assassinate _Orlando Lackey_."

Hal smacked him hard across the face again, this time dislocating something in his jaw, "Don't you dare say his name. You don't deserve to," He pressed the gun into Bane's mouth, shoving it past his torn lip.

"No!" Arthur shouted, knocking the gun to the ground.

"Neil, what the hell!" Hal hissed, "He _killed_ Eric! Don't tell me you have feelings for this fucking bastard?"

"I love him, no," Arthur said, stuttering as he tried to explain himself, "I love _Eames_. And Eames is still in there. He's as much a victim in this as anyone," Hal moved to retrieve his gun. Arthur steadied him immediately, "Don't. Please don't."

Hal sighed, exasperated, as he pulled away and picked up his gun. He stood there for a second, contemplating. He could shoot Bane now. In Arthur's state, there's no way he'd be able to stop him. In the end, he stuffed the gun back into his coat and headed to the door. He kicked the fallen totems under the bed; he had knocked over the box when he rushed to Bane with his gun, "I'll walk you back,"

Arthur nodded, holding onto Hal's shoulder and shooting a quick glance to Bane. The man had fallen asleep. His face looked almost peaceful like Eames when he slept. If it wasn't for the heavy burn scars all over his neck and chest and battered face, he would be the perfect sight. Arthur tore away, walking back to his room.

"No nurses or security?" Hal said, looking around.

"Saito bought out the place," Arthur explained, limping back to his room, "So, was this why you were looking for Eames?"

Hal nodded, fixing his glasses, "We were just going out for dinner. Nothing special, some tiny little diner in Kansas. Shot rang out and that was it," His voice went quiet, "He was gone," Arthur shut his eyes, Eric Preston, his best friend, gone forever, "I saw that bastard's face. Just for a second," He let out a dry chuckle, "How could I forget it? Tommy Conlon, we went to jail for looking him up."

Arthur nodded, a sad smile on his face as he fought the urge to cry, "Yeah," He sobbed weakly, "Who knew we'd end up like this?" He took a turn into his room. Hal lowered him onto the bed slowly, pulling the blanket over him and handing him a tissue when he could no longer hold in his tears, "How did this happen?" His voice cracked, losing Arthur's firm tone and sliding into Neil's drawl.

Hal placed a hand on his shoulder, eyes shut. He took the class ring back from Arthur, putting the chain around his neck and tucking it back into his coat, "Who knows," He walked to the door, "And, Neil?" He said, "I've got a lot of work to do so I won't be back for a while. Tell Wendy I said hi,"

"Okay," Arthur said through his sniffles, wiping away his tears.

In the dark, lost in depression, Arthur could only use his thoughts to distraction. What if he never left Tommy back in New York? He would have never said anything to Brian Lackey and that poor soul could've continued living his life oblivious to the suffering he endured. He would have never met Hal, never would have needed to hack government records to find Tommy because his lover would be right beside him. Maybe, Tommy would have decided not to compete in Sparta. Maybe the two would have started a business together.

No, Sparta was inevitable. His brother-in-arms meant too much to him as did the security of his wife. Tommy would go to Sparta; Neil would follow. Wendy wouldn't have had to spend money for his tickets, maybe she could've used the money on a mini-fridge. Tommy would get arrested, that was beyond Neil's control. Neil would cry for an entire day, maybe bond with Tommy's family before leaving for Kansas. He'd go to boot camp after that, inspired by Tommy and finding no joy in anything else. Hal and Eric would get together and go on with their normal lives without government hacking and dream architecture.

This was a contradiction. Neil would never let Tommy go so easily. If Tommy was out of his life, he'd do anything in his power to find him. He loved him more than anything in the world. He'd find and persuade Hal to help him through Eric. They'd hack government records and get themselves arrested. Project SOMNACIN would have saved him just as Hal's computer prowess did for Hal. The two would become professional dream workers.

And the path would no longer diverge from reality. There were only two significant changes, Arthur noticed. Brian Lackey would still be alive but even so, it was only a matter of time before something cruelly jogged his memory. So in the end, the only guaranteed difference would have been his alias "Arthur" which he had picked as a tribute to Wendy's recommendation of English Mythology when he was in college.

It was destiny. Eames was destiny, a cruel, cruel destiny.

Dreaming was a rare commodity. Ever since Arthur began dream working, he had become unable to dream and relied solely on the PASIV to generate fantasies as he slept. Whether from some miracle or the abuse he had taken from Bane, Arthur found himself dreaming tonight. To no one's surprise, the first thing that appeared in his dream was darkness, nothing but darkness.

_"Is anyone there?" Arthur called out, walking. His body was fully healed and refreshed._

_"Darling," The voice was weak, distant. Arthur found himself running to it._

_"Eames!" Arthur cried out. He saw someone huddled in a corner, sitting on a pile of poker chips. It had to be Eames. Arthur ran towards him, circling his arms around the body, "Oh god, Eames, I found you,"_

_The huddled form looked up. Eames looked so much older, so much weaker, "Darling," He whispered again, pressing his face into Arthur's neck, "You should have ran. You can't let Bane have you,"_

_"I don't care if he has me. If there's a chance that I could save you, I'd do it,"_

_"He'll hurt you,"_

_"I don't care!"_

_Eames stared, blankly, into Arthur's eyes._

_"Arthur, darling, I love you so much,"_

_A shot of lightning came between them, blasting the two apart. The darkness burned away and Eames crumbled along with the darkness. A hand came around Arthur's arm, grabbing onto it firmly and hauling him up, "Eames!" He screamed, reaching down._

The sunlight broke through the gaps of the blinds and struck Arthur in the face. He gasped, waking from his dream. He reached for the desk beside him, searching for his totem only to remember that it had been horribly violated by Bane's hands and now rendered useless. He reached for the phone instead, calling Ariadne and Cobb.

The two entered together with Cobb pushing Ariadne's wheelchair. Both were evidently still tired, yawning and shutting their eyes occasionally when Arthur spoke, "I need to get into limbo,"

"Arthur, we went over this before. Not while you're unhealthy," Cobb said, yawning.

"I know, but we can start planning now. There's a lot to cover,"

Ariadne yawned, taking in a sip of the coffee she picked up from the hospital cafeteria, "Remind Saito to buy a better cafeteria,"

Arthur folded his arms, "This is serious."

"I know, I know," Ariadne sighed, "Arthur, don't you think Cobb and I have been trying to think of a plan for this? We've ran through more than enough scenarios. We even had Yusuf and Hal on board for a while. There's an underlying problem that can't be solved with dream gambits," Arthur watched her intently, "We have nothing to threaten him with. We tried sneaking around him, he figured it out and stopped us completely."

Cobb nodded in agreement, "We have nothing negotiable. Bane has no reason to listen to us."

"You do have something to negotiate with,"

"Arthur, you're not an object. We're not going to sell you to Bane in exchange for Eames," Cobb said, sitting onto the counter across from the bed, "Eames wouldn't want that,"

"I know that," Arthur snapped back, "Eames tried bargaining like that, look how that turned out for him," He sat up, straightening his hair, "I was thinking of something else. A 'despair' gambit, make him desperate enough to bargain with,"

"Like what he did to you?" Ariadne said, shaking her head, "You can't be serious."

"It's worth a shot,"

"At what cost? Your soul?" Ariadne said, cutting off Cobb before he could respond.

"My soul is worth Eames's life," Arthur replied firmly.

"That's probably what Eames said about you before he let Bane throw him into the pit,"

"He who fights monsters should see to it that he himself does not become a monster," Cobb said, almost embarrassed after the quote. He could practically feel Ariadne rolling her eyes, mouthing ' _how pretentious'_ , "You know Eames wouldn't want that either. None of us want you to lose yourself,"

Arthur snorted, slicking back his hair with his hand, "And if you gaze for long into an abyss," He could see the black hole in his mind. He could see Eames reaching for him, pleading, "No matter what I'll go through, it's nothing compared to what Eames is suffering right now," He looked to both of them, determined to stick to his plan, "I'm sorry but I have to go through with this."

"We're really not going to change your mind, are we?" Cobb asked. Arthur shook his head firmly, "Alright then. Count me in,"

"Even if I pretended to be angry, I don't think that will work," Ariadne said, folding her arms, "Fine, I'll help too,"

"Thank you,"

"Don't pretend, Arthur, you knew we'd cave in no matter what your decision was,"

 

With the door shut and padded so none of their planning escaped the room, the three dream workers began formulating their plan. Cobb stood at the front, directing the briefings as he usually did. Arthur remained in bed, occasionally leaning back when he accidentally rested on injured flesh. Ariadne kept track of notes, taking over Arthur's job.

"What's your idea?" Cobb said, "I get the despair gambit. I don't get how you'll make it happen,"

"We starve him from contact," Arthur said, "Yusuf said that Bane is an amplification of Tommy Conlon, Eames's previous identity. So his rage has become blood thirst, love has become obsession, etcetera," He recalled that night he woke up from bed with Eames sitting at the foot of the bed sobbing. He'd never seen Eames so weak; in his eyes, Eames would always be the invincible hero, "Eames, Tommy, whoever, he was always afraid of losing control of his life."

Ariadne nodded, jotting down the notes, "And you _think_ this is the same for Bane?"

"No, this is definitely the same for Bane," Arthur said, "When he held me captive, he told me to _conform_ and he grew angry if I rebelled. He wants control; he thrives on it. And that is what we use against him."

Cobb and Ariadne were visibly deterred by the idea. Arthur had planned to starve Bane's human interaction. Cobb and Ariadne would no longer visit. The nurses would not speak to him. He'd be given an IV to keep him alive but he'd remain bound to the bed for the entire day. Most importantly, Arthur would remain out of his life. His beacon of light would forever be hidden from him, leaving him to stew in his own darkness.

No one argued that Bane didn't deserve this. He'd done the most despicable acts possible and framed it all on an innocent man he held hostage in his mind. All Cobb and Ariadne were worried about was Arthur's state of mind. They couldn't help but notice a spark of joy in Arthur's eyes as he described the plan. He was _enjoying_ this.

At the end of the day, they finalized their plan and filled Saito's nurses in. Cobb had left the room to fill in all the accomplices for their plan leaving Ariadne alone with Arthur. The light had returned to Arthur's eyes. Cool, confident Arthur had returned at a horrible cost.

"Arthur, don't lose yourself in this," Ariadne said quietly.

The point man nodded slowly, "I know,"

"Eames wouldn't want you to become Bane, even if you only take on a tiny part of him,"

He looked to her, packing away the notes he had made absently, "I'll be alright. I promise."

 

Day one commenced. Bane lay on the bed, still restrained. He noticed a catheter attached to him along with several other tubes possibly for feeding. He assumed they must've been attached while he had been asleep. He waited on his bed, waited for nurses to enter so he could charm them into favours. No one came. He could barely hear anyone outside his door. He shut his eyes, figuring he'd get some sleep if he'd be undisturbed. He woke up. It was night. No one had come. The room was completely static. There wasn't even a clock to tell him the time. Nothing moved except for the monster lying in the bed.

Bane found himself sleeping for the majority of his time. He had amused himself by heckling those who passed by but with the door firmly shut, he'd have to find a new way to amuse himself. Being bound firmly to a bed really restricted his creativity. When he could no longer sleep, Bane found himself counting the cracks in the ceiling. He counted two, with a possibly hairline fracture right at the corner. This was a very well maintained room. Had the window been closer, he would have counted the stars in the sky. He resorted to counting the leaves on the tree situated outside. He'd always lose track after one hundred and fifty eight.

It took him merely five days to figure out their plan. They were starving him mentally. It wasn't subtle at all but perhaps that's what they had wanted. Still, knowledge of their plan didn't make Bane feel any more potent. On the contrary, it made him feel worse to know of what they were planning and be unable to stop them. Quite like what he had done to Arthur in order to make him his. No doubt this was Arthur's plan, using the devil's tactics against the devil himself. Bane amused himself with that thought for several hours before finally growing bored of it. A small squirrel had made a nest just by his window. For the remainder of the week, he amused himself by cataloging the squirrel's daily life by the tree.

It took him another week before he began struggling at his bonds. The sound of footsteps and rustling outside began to make him restless. They were the only sounds left to him other than his own breathing. Bane would struggle against the medical restraints, straining against them till his wrists turned purple. With nothing else to distract himself with, he'd go on for hours testing his bonds.

It took him two weeks before he began talking. He shouted for nurses and doctors to come to his aid. He feigned pain and screamed as if he was being stabbed. No one came. He knew he became desperate when he began calling for _Cobb_ and _Ariadne._ He knew he resigned to his fate when he began begging for Arthur's forgiveness. His pleas reached no one's ears.

It took him three weeks before he began talking to himself, talking to _Eames_. His entrapment only brought back distant memories of being locked away in Eames's mind. He told himself that it would suffice to use his memories of Arthur to amuse himself. He told himself that he had endured far longer in Eames's mind and could continue enduring. He couldn't help but feel that he was lying to himself.

He couldn't sleep anymore. He'd slept too much. His body felt limp against the bed and his wrists were numb from fighting against the restraints. He expected to feel unclean and oily but someone must have been coming into to clean him while he slept. Perhaps they even sedated him and unbounded him to sponge him off. His drip was getting awfully low, the nurse would come change it soon. _Finally_.

A young man came in dressed in scrubs. He had short, greasy hair that looked like it hadn't seen a good wash in days. The stubble on his chin was unevenly shaved, leaving heavy patches and bald areas in certain places. His eyes were small but fiercely blue, standing out against his tanned skin. Aside from Arthur, Bane had never been more eager to read the features of another human being. He had to savour the contact before another few weeks passed without interaction.

"Ah, finally, I was wondering where the staff had gone," Bane said, jerking at his bonds, "So, what's your name?" The man pointed to his name tag, "West Marley, intern, charming. Now, would you mind passing a message to Mr. Arthur Riordan? I know what he's trying to do. It's not going to work. All he's doing is proving how much he's learned from me. Tell him I'm proud of him, will you?"

The intern raised an eyebrow, slipping a new drip into a fresh needle, "Mr. Riordan discharged himself several weeks ago,"

Arthur left him here, all alone. He abandoned him, "No, no, no, no," Bane muttered quickly, "What of Cobb or Ariadne? That blonde and the brunette in the wheelchair," His voice was hoarse, almost angry but mostly desperate.

The intern shrugged, inserting the IV into his arm, "Haven't seen anyone like that."

"You're lying," The desperation was clear in his voice. This had to be another trick. Arthur wouldn't abandon him. He wouldn't abandon Eames. The genuine sincerity in the intern's words were painfully sharp, "Stop lying to me!" He barked, jerking all at once against his bonds, "Arthur's out there. Isn't he? He wouldn't leave! Bring him to me this instant!" He had to give the intern credit; the man did not look startled in the slightest.

His eyes caught another detail of the intern. His name tag, written right below it, was the department name: Violent Mental Disorder. His breathing accelerated; he was almost hyperventilating. Arthur had left him to the mercy of the hospital. He abandoned him, regardless of Eames.

When the intern left, Bane went from being void of thoughts to being overwhelmed by then. Each stage of his thoughts took up nearly nine days to fully develop to the point where Bane swore he could have written a book about them. His first stage: Denial.

He denied it all first. Arthur would not abandon Eames. Arthur would suffer a thousand deaths just to save him. A nagging voice inside him told him that Bane had really done nothing to prove that Eames still existed inside him. Arthur was running on hope. Bane had also left quite a reminder on what would happen to those who try to enter his guarded mind. There wouldn't be a team in the world who'd dare enter his mind after they hear what had happened to Arthur's team. Bane had spent all this time diminishing Arthur's hope, crafting him into his ideal projection of Arthur, he hadn't considered that Arthur would escape his grasp.

When he had identified his mistake and ran through it several times, Bane began combing through the flaws of his plan that had led him to this moment. He should've continued to feed Arthur hope about Eames to keep him obedient. Perhaps he should have been less harsh, slowly shaping him through pleasure as opposed to forcing him to conform through pain and leashing him down with hope. He was impatient, too impatient. Inception was a last resort; it was difficult to pull off and it demanded that a third party join. Had he known that he'd find a loyal mercenary as his second-in-command, he would have attempted sooner.

With the reflection came regret. It started off simple, like regretting to install a jammer to the cottage to avoid any sort of tracking. His regret began deconstructing his plans, his ideals, _him_. Had he treated Arthur well as opposed to terrorizing him, Arthur would not have let him go so easily. Had he never antagonized Eames, controlled his undying hatred for him, he could have shared his life. He could have shared _Arthur's love_. Now there was nothing left for him because he was selfish, because his hatred and rage was uncontrollable. Because he was _Bane_.

Arthur abandoned him, his one true love gone forever. He couldn't free himself. He was all alone confined in his little white room. There was nothing left for him. No one heard him when he screamed, all of his regrets catching up with him.

"I'm sorry Arthur," He shouted, "Beloved, come back, _please_ ," He cried out for hours till he even lost his voice. Now he truly had nothing left.

The team had let him stew with his sadness for a week, resisting the urge to rush in and save him as they watched from the camera. Ariadne left first, refusing to watch. Cobb turned away, shutting his eyes and trying to ignore the desperate pleas. Arthur's eyes never left the screen.

 

"I'm going to speak to him today," Arthur said, fixing the collar of his suit, "I probably won't be back for a long time," He said to Wendy who sat on the motel couch listening, "Cobb, did Yusuf send the sedatives from his lab?" Cobb lifted the case and nodded, "Good, I've got my PASIV hooked up to this." He reached for the case but Cobb jerked it away, "Cobb?"

He sighed, pressing the case into his hands, "Don't lose yourself in there."

Arthur nodded, "I know. I'll be careful," He looked to Ariadne who couldn't bear to look at him. He understood why; he had forced her to conform with his mental torture plan. Ariadne, still with her morality intact, couldn't stand to look at how far he'd fallen, "I promise I'll be fine,"

"Neil," Wendy's voice was soft and concerned. She stood, resting a hand on his suit, "If it really doesn't work," Arthur had only briefly ran over the plan to her. Dream crime was already something relatively unknown to Wendy. The idea of limbo and split personalities trapped with limbo was absolutely baffling, "Whatever you're doing, if it really doesn't work, _please_ just give up. I don't want to see you hurt anymore."

Arthur nodded slowly, holding her hand close, "I will. This is the last time," He knew he wanted to keep trying till either he or Bane were dead. Just like Bane had done when Arthur refused to love him back. For his own sanity and for the safety of everyone else, Arthur complied to their wishes.

He passed Cobb, giving one friendly pat on the shoulder before walking to the motel door.

"Arthur," Ariadne called to him, "Good luck,"

He nodded in acknowledgement and exited the room.

 

Bane had his eyes shut tightly. He grew to accept the fact that he'd never leave this room. To the man who had control of the entire universe of the mind, this confinement and restraint tore away at his soul. He needed his freedom again; he needed his command over the world.

_He needed Arthur. So very much._

He barely heard the door to his room open. The soft click was deliberate; someone was purposely trying to be quiet. Bane propped his head up, watching as Arthur entered the room sharp as ever in a black suit with a auburn tie. Despite how much it hurt, Bane had to resist the urge to lunge forward and plead for mercy. The sight of Arthur restored his hope and joy, making those agonizing weeks prior to this moment seem like nothing. Arthur returned; he must've always planned on returning.

"Beloved," Bane called out, his voice slightly hoarse from screaming to no one, "Pleasure seeing you. I always knew you'd come back. I trusted you," Arthur watched, face apathetic, briefcase in one hand, "Arthur, beloved, I love you. Please, take off my restraints so I can show you how much you mean to me. I'll treat you better, I promise."

The briefcase clicked open, Arthur reached in and tossed a stack of sheets onto Bane's lap. Straining from his restraints, Bane jerked himself forward and looked down at the sheets. He caught the title of the page but little else: _Commitment forms to Arkham Asylum_. Bane blanched as he read the sheets; Arthur caught it right away.

"Permanent commitment to an asylum, listed as violently aggressive and necessary solitary confinement. Immunity from the cops as well," Arthur said coldly, "You'll live out the rest of your life alone, tied down, patronized by doctors every hour of the day,"

"No way," Bane sighed in a breathless gasp, "No, you're bluffing. They won't take your word. They'll run their own tests and I can forge as sane a person as I need to get out of there,"

"I'm a point man. I'll find my resources. And a phone call to Saito had you confined here for months without human contact, I'm sure another phone call can get you locked away in an asylum,"

 _No, no, no, no_ , This could not be happening. Bane shook his head violently, too violently. No doubt his bluff of being unaffected by Arthur's tactics was crumbling. He breathed deeply, relaxing. He had to gain his composure before he could stand up against Arthur, "Arthur," The name was slurred and dark on his tongue, "I've spent an eternity in solitude within Mr. Eames's mind. Several years is nothing compared to what I endured,"

"You spent an eternity in his subconscious. You spent an eternity as a _god_ of your own domain. Now you're in our world, in reality, where nothing is under your control. Being trapped in the subconscious is nothing like being trapped in reality," Arthur picked up the papers and stuffed them back into the briefcase, "We've played by your rules long enough. Now we play by mine,"

Bane tried to startle Arthur, suddenly thrashing from his restraints and growling. Arthur paid him no mind, "You're bluffing!" Bane shouted, struggling harder, "What about Mr. Eames? You wouldn't leave him."

"I'm giving up,"

Bane was silenced. He wanted to be baffled but all he could feel was impending doom lurching upon him. The darkness was threatening to swallow him again.

"I'm a point man. I deal in facts. I have nothing to tell me that Eames is even still alive in your subconscious," Arthur said, lowering his saddened gaze, "And even if he was still alive, who knows what limbo has done to him by now?" He shut the briefcase, stepping away from the bed, "This is goodbye forever, Bane. Hopefully, asylum will bring you peace," The words cut deeper than the papers. His beacon was drifting away, leaving him in the dark.

Before he could even open the door, Bane cut him off, "Wait," He called out, "Please," Arthur complied but opened the door regardless, making Bane flinch with anxiety, "Beloved, I'll let you see Eames. I'll show you he's still alive,"

"If he's trapped inside you regardless, what's the point?"

Bane saw the trap. He knew Arthur was waiting for this moment. He couldn't stop himself regardless. He needed his freedom. He needed Arthur, "That can be decided later," He delayed any bargain. He learned from Eames that jumping into a bargain blindly would never lead to success, "But for now, I permit you to enter limbo and see him as long as you don't..." He stopped, eyes locking to Arthur's before jerking away. He didn't want him to see the desperation in his eyes, "...leave me,"

Arthur pondered for a moment, feigning deep thought before nodding, "Alright," He took out his Blackberry, calling Cobb, "I will ask Cobb to set us up with a PASIV," That was a lie, of course. He already had one hidden away in the hospital, "I will return in an hour," He had to keep his tone even and cold as he exited.

As soon as the other was out of their view, Bane and Arthur shut their eyes tightly and fought the urge to sob. Arthur pressed his hands to his face, taking deep breaths to regain his composure. He decided to take a short walk around the hospital, walking off the emotions that were weighing him down. Bane decided to nap away his emotions. This could be the last day he'll be restrained. This could also be the last day he'll have freedom.

Both were dead silent as Arthur prepared the PASIV device. He inserted the vials of sedative Yusuf had prepared back in Mombasa. From the cameras, Ariadne and Cobb kept careful watch of the two in case something disrupted the dream sharing. Wendy offered to wait at the hospital for Arthur in case he needed the support afterwards.

Bane remained restrained but Arthur offered to hold his hand before they went other. Tightly gripping into his hand, the two locked eyes as Arthur depressed the button and activated the PASIV.

 

Arthur awoke in absolute darkness. He knew Bane had the ability to jump between levels of dreams and limbo freely. Had he brought Arthur into limbo directly? He wandered but felt nothing but absolute darkness.

"Bane!" He shouted, still wandering.

"Darling,"

Arthur whipped around, seeing Eames standing before him dressed in a black turtleneck and grey, army trousers. The forger smiled at him, embracing Arthur while the point man was stunned, "I'm so happy to see you. I love you so much darling," He murmured into his neck, "I missed you. You have no idea how painful it was without you," He held Arthur's face gently, smiling sweetly and eyes on the verge of tears, "Love, let's go home together," He pressed forward for a kiss. Arthur pushed him back, eyes shut so he wouldn't be swayed by Eames's heartbroken expression.

"Bane, stop it," When he opened his eyes, Eames was gone as well as the darkness. Bane stood before him on the remnants of a rooftop floating in the sky, still dressed in the exact same attire.

A chuckle came from Bane, a sad, pathetic little chuckle, "How'd you know it was me?"

Arthur shrugged with a lopsided smile, "Just a feeling, really. I mean, it was an excellent forgery but picking out details are my specialty,"

"I respect that," Bane said, stepping backwards away from Arthur, "Before we go to limbo, I wish to bring you someplace first."

"A memory?"

"No, a wish," He took Arthur's hand and walked him down the stairs. By all means, Arthur should have fought his grip and tore himself away. He should've forced Bane's hand and shoot himself into limbo. To this Bane, worn by Arthur's cruel gambit, so docile and human, so like Eames, Arthur couldn't find the heart to.

The stairs led to a door with a plate upon it stating 525. It was Tommy's apartment. Bane nudged the door open, leading Arthur to a wretched looking Christmas dinner on the kitchen table. A plate of sliced turkey substituted the traditional stuffed turkey dinner. Cans of miscellaneous goods littered the table as dressings and side dishes. 

Bane took on the forgery of Tommy. He wore a worn polo shirt with a cheap black jacket and grey slacks. Arthur thought the choice of clothes was uncharacteristically formal for Tommy yet not quite as classy as Eames. It was when he realized why Bane had chosen this outfit: Tommy wanted to dress nicely for his Christmas dinner with Neil and this was the best he could do.

"Tommy," Arthur sighed, reaching out to touch his shoulder. He jerked away shortly after. _This is Bane. Don't forget_.

'Tommy' smiled to him, touching his shoulder and leading him into the kitchen, "Sorry, this was the best I could do. Is it alright?"

His voice was too honest, too sweet. Arthur couldn't resist an answer, "No, it's perfect," He genuinely smiled to Tommy as the larger man pulled out a seat for him.

They were likely lost in talk for hours. Tommy entertained Arthur with informal debates about any topic that came to mind. The intellect behind Tommy's words were a kind reminder that Arthur was indeed talking to Bane and not to Tommy. The wine Arthur sipped was expensive, obviously out of Tommy's price range. When the larger man claimed that he splurged for the bottle, Arthur called him out for stealing it. The two shared a short laugh before Tommy admitting to the truth.

The meal and company was divine. It was only when Tommy reached over to kiss Arthur did the point man resist. He shared one soft, chaste kiss before pulling away, shoving Tommy back, "I can't," He said, "Bane, I can't."

Tommy stared into his eyes, gently pinning him to the wall as he talked, "I've always let people jerk me around. My father, the army, it bothered me but I let them jerk me around. I let life control me because I didn't care. This was the first moment that I wanted to go back in time and change," He leaned in again, kissing Arthur gently.

"No," Arthur said again, pushing Tommy away, "Bane, stop it," He pulled out of his grasp.

"I love you,"

"I don't love you,"

Tommy's forgery faded as well as the room returning them to that floating rooftop under the night sky. Bane watched him. The mask might've obscured his face but his eyes were clearly hurt and upset, "Is it because I hurt you?" He whispered through his mask, "Is it because I tortured you, tried to brainwash you?" Arthur couldn't meet his eyes, "Would you have loved me if I treated you right?"

"No," Arthur said, taking in a deep breath to calm himself before looking back at Bane, "I wouldn't have loved you even if you didn't torture me," He reached forward, holding the sides of Bane's face where the mask covered, "You and Eames are two very different people. Eames had every right to hate me. I fell in love with someone else and I spurned him when I saw him again. I hated 'Neil' even if it meant hating Tommy too. I chose myself over him." Arthur smiled sadly, still holding Bane gently, "But he still looked out for me,"

Bane did the exact contrary to Eames: He choose himself over Arthur's happiness.

"And when you appeared, he distanced himself to protect me. The phone call you made; Eames tried to explain but I wouldn't listen. Even after that misunderstanding with the phone call and when I flirted with Ariadne, he remained loyal to me," Arthur broke out into a sad laugh, hands sliding off of Bane, "I said horrible things to him. I treated him even worse. But still, he loved me and endured it."

"I see," Bane's voice was quiet.

"I love Tommy, I'll always love Tommy," Arthur said, "But Eames is special to me. He's so much more than just Tommy. That's why I can't love you." He backed away, watching Bane. He noticed a twitch in his left eye while he stared blankly into the night sky.

Deep down, he knew Eames was willing to sacrifice more for Arthur's happiness. Bane fought tooth and nail to avoid being sealed in the subconscious again. That was why he never stepped beyond the third level while he tried to incept Arthur; he didn't want Arthur to accidentally stumble to Eames. Bane wanted Arthur even if he had to force him to submit. Eames let Arthur go; he let him find his happiness on his own. He threw himself into the black hole, regardless of what hell awaited him, just to protect Arthur. For this entire time, Bane argued that he loved Arthur more. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Bane nodded to himself, acknowledging Eames's love, "Forgive me, Arthur, for everything I've done to you. I'm so sorry," Arthur's arms encircled him, holding him close. Bane returned the hug, his large hands resting on Arthur's back, "I lost control, I always lose control," He was everything Tommy hated about himself, especially his horrible temper. It was in his nature to lose control.

"I know," Arthur whispered, hugging tightly. He remember that time Eames lost control and killed his little league coach. That part of Bane bled out into Eames to protect him. He couldn't forgive him though, not after what Bane had done, torturing him, crippling Ariadne, killing Adrian, _killing Eric_. Despite this, he continued to embrace him till Bane pulled away and took a gun from his belt.

"If I had never split from Mr. Eames, would you still love us?" Bane asked, adjusting the safety on his gun.

Arthur shrugged. He honestly wasn't sure. Bane acknowledged his lack of response with a soft nod.

He pointed the gun to Arthur's forehead, steadying his grip on it, "I will meet you down at limbo and restore your memories before you lose yourself,"

"Do you swear to it?" The question was pointless. Bane could do whatever he wanted if Arthur had momentarily lost his memory in limbo. Regardless, he needed to read Bane's eyes to know if he spoke the truth.

"I promise," He fired.

 

The air was dry, he lay on a bed of sand in an empty desert. Despite the sun beating down on him, the grains of sand were cool to the touch and the air was no suffocating. Arthur stood slowly, surveying the world around him. He rubbed his eyes, yawning as he stretched.

A large hand came upon his shoulder. Suddenly, everything returned. In shock, he stumbled back and fell into the sand. Bane immediately reached down and helped him up, "Has your memory returned?"

Arthur breathed in deeply, his heart was beating rapidly. The shock of his memories all returning at once literally knocked him off his feet, "Yeah, fine. Couldn't you have warned me or something?" There was a smile in Bane's eyes. That was one aspect he shared with Eames: Mischievous, "Where's the black hole?" He answered his own question when he looked at the giant well in the ground just a few steps away. He stepped towards it and looked over the edge only seeing absolute darkness, "What happened here?"

"In exchange for access to limbo and your memories of Fischer's inception, I enlisted the help of Barsad. We constructed this in limbo to contain the black hole so we could explore limbo without accidentally falling in," Bane explained, "He was a very resourceful man with loyalty bought with knowledge. Yet even still, he pitied you enough to let you message Cobb,"

"He let me?" Arthur thought he had tricked him.

"The man hadn't expected you to find his phone so quickly but yes, he wanted to help you indirectly," Bane forged himself a rope from the sand, "Mr. Eames is in there. Shall we go down then?" Bane tied the rope around himself like a harness, securing the other end to a hook on the side of the well.

"Wait, is it safe for you to go down there?" Arthur said, "Then both parts of Tommy will be trapped down there," He grabbed Bane's shoulder, "I should go down alone,"

Bane secured the rope tighter around himself, "No. I experimented with Barsad. It is possible for me to enter the black hole as well as long as I have a foothold outside of it," He reached an arm around Arthur, hauling him up against his chest with one arm secured around his waist and under his knees while the other gripped the rope. To steady himself, Arthur wrapped both arms around Bane's neck and shoulders.

"What are you doing!" Arthur shouted, gripping onto tighter.

"Carrying you down," Bane said, holding the rope and kicking off the wall as he descended into the black hole, "I doubt you are as adept with climbing as I am," He chuckled when he heard Arthur scoff in displeasure.

"If I fall, I'd just die. Wouldn't I? Then I'd wake up,"

Bane withdrew the gun from his pocket and pressed it into Arthur's forehead. The point man struggled but Bane's grip was firm on him, "Bane!" He shouted indignantly, struggling wildly to get away. Bane fired his gun, blood exploded from Arthur's vision as he cried out.

Moments later, the wound disappeared as if it had never happened. The blood still splattered on his face was the only reminder that Bane had just shot him, "Bane, what the hell!" He barked.

"Another experiment we conducted down here. Death is an impossibility in the negative subconscious," Bane explained, pocketing the gun, "So even if Mr. Eames tried to kill himself, he would not escape. The death would not 'register' in this space," He held Arthur tighter, re-steadying his grip when Arthur had jostled around. Reluctantly, Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around his neck to secure his grip.

The two had been descending for a while. The darkness had enveloped the circle of light from the well. All that was left was pitch black darkness and footholds upon walls that were only barely visible. Arthur's eyes permeated the darkness, looking at the multiple footholds and ledges that almost built a staircase to the top of the well.

"Aren't these steps counterproductive?" Arthur said, "Eames could escape, couldn't he?"

"I didn't put them there," Bane said, "I believe Mr. Eames has been trying to forge a way out but given how dilapidated and incomplete these steps are, I'd say architecture in the negative subconscious is not quite as flexible."

As the two slowly descended, Arthur watched as the darkness below them began fading to red, "Bane, what's that?"

The larger man looked down, gripping Arthur closer to him as he descended, "Mr. Eames, it appears," Bane leapt off the wall, gripping onto Arthur tightly and letting the rope fall with them, unravelling as it went. Arthur kept his eyes shut, gripping onto Bane tightly as the two fell together.

Bane's landing was heavy. The floor beneath him was unstable and shifting; his bulk was the only property that kept him from slipping to the ground. Arthur opened his eyes slowly, surveying his surroundings, "Oh my god," The floor was a sea of red poker chips. He slapped at Bane's shoulder, "Let me down," The larger man ignored him at first, still carrying the point man as he walked, "Bane!"

A metallic sigh came from Bane. He lowered Arthur onto the poker chips, straightening out his clothes as he did, "Do not stray too far. Without the rope, you will not be able to return," He pulled at the rope connected to his harness.

"Right," Arthur agreed before turning away and wandering through the poker chips, "Eames?" Arthur shouted as he wandered the sea of poker chips. A figure, half buried in the poker chips caught his attention, "Eames!" Arthur called, running towards the buried figure. He grabbed the man's shoulder and turned him around... greeted by his own face plastered onto a rotting body. Arthur jerked away, stumbling back into Bane's strong back, "What is that?"

Bane chuckled resulting in Arthur seething at the man, "An attempt at a projection of you. He must've been lonely,"

"Shut up," Arthur growled, stepping over the corpse and continuing his search.

When he had stumbled over a cell phone, Arthur knew he was going the right direction, "Eames!" He cried out again, "Where are you?" The faintest sound of a poker chip dropping into a pile that scattered beneath its weight caught Arthur's attention. He looked to Bane first, checking if it was him, before running, "Eames!" He shouted.

The faintest word met his ears, "Arthur?"

Hugging his knees and curled up on a stack of poker chips, Eames looked up and watched Arthur from afar. Arthur recognized him immediately by the salmon paisley shirt he wore and the tan slacks that so dreadfully matched it. There was a concussion on his head,  
likely from climbing the walls and falling. As Bane said, the wound hadn't killed him but it left blood painted over his face like a one-sided mask.

His left hand never stopped rubbing at the poker chip in his fingers, now an unconscious habit. His eyes kept moving, watching Arthur and the chip in his hands. Another chip birthed from his hands as Arthur approached. Eames curled up on himself and wept into his knees.

"Eames!" Arthur shouted, falling to his knees and embracing Eames with a bruising strength, "Oh god, Eames. You're alive,"

"Are you real?" Eames whispered into his knees. He didn't return the embrace. He didn't look up, "I'm still in limbo, aren't I?"

Arthur nodded quickly, "Yes, you're in limbo but I'm real. I'm here with you right now," Arthur said, lifting Eames's face into his hands and staring straight into his eyes framed with eyelashes dipped in blood, "Eames, look at me," The forger couldn't. He kept tearing his gaze away.

"That's what they all say," Eames sobbed, "And then they decay before my eyes, staring at me like I killed them," He struggled, trying to get away. Arthur held him still, wrestling with him upon the poker chips till the forger was too exhausted to run, "Stop!" He screamed.

A heavy footstep cut him off. Eames and Arthur turned, staring at Bane as he approached them slowly, "Fear not, Mr. Eames. You are not dreaming. This is indeed Arthur," Bane was the god of Eames's world. His word was absolute. Eames immediately stopped struggling and hugged Arthur tightly, soaking in his presence. Slowly, carefully, Arthur took Eames into his arms.

"Darling," He murmured into his neck, pressing his plush lips firmly into Arthur's skin, "I love you so much. I love you more than anything in this entire world. I love you. I love you..." He continued to murmur into Arthur's neck, engraving his declarations of love into Arthur's body.

Arthur sobbed into Eames's neck, memorizing the feel of _his_ Eames. He kissed at his neck, finding the butterfly tattoo intact and still so beautiful to look at, "I'm not leaving you. I'll save you, I promise,"

"You can't. You have a life to live out there," Eames said, pulling away from his embrace to look sternly at Bane. There was clearly weakness in his eyes but having Arthur in his arms put strength back in him, "And you, you better be treating him well."

Bane said nothing. He hadn't just broken their promise. He shattered it into pieces.

Arthur fought against Eames as the forger tried desperately to push him away, "I'm going to bring you back," He turned to Bane, "Please, don't leave him down here anymore," Bane had no reaction, "Bane!" Arthur shouted, "I promise I'll return your love if you save Eames,"

"Bargaining will not help you. You cannot force yourself to love me," Bane said plainly, "I promised to let you see him, nothing more," He reached out a hand to Arthur, "I will bring you back to the surface. Come on,"

Arthur slapped Bane's hand away instantaneously. Eames gasped, reaching forward and grabbing Arthur's forearm, "Don't do this. Go with him. I'm not worth being trapped down here," Eames was promptly silenced when Arthur grabbed his collar and crushed their lips together in a passionate kiss. It felt like centuries had passed since Arthur last felt those warm, affectionate lips upon his own reaching for his in a kiss. When he pulled away, Eames's mind was successfully short-circuited.

The point man returned his attention to Bane, eyes hardening in an instant, "I'm not leaving him."

Jealousy radiated from the man. Now more than even, Bane appeared like a monstrosity to Arthur, envy and hatred slipping out from his body at the sight of Eames. However, when his eyes fell upon Arthur, every shade of loathing faded away into soft sadness.

"Very well," He said, picking up the rope and following it back to the wall, "Then you may remain here with Mr. Eames,"

"Bane, get him out of here!" Eames shouted, "Force him if you have to. Just do it!"

"I've forced him to do more than enough," Bane replied, his back towards them so they couldn't read the regret and melancholy in his expression. Eventually, he faded into the darkness. His footsteps and metallic breathing disappeared soon after.

"What?" Eames turned to Arthur. The point man's humiliated eyes told him exactly what had happened, "Darling, I'm so sorry," Eames whispered.

"It isn't your fault," Arthur said, holding his hands between both of them.

"Of course it is, the only reason Bane exists is because I was selfish and stupid and impulsive. If I had just endured it, none of this wouldn't have happened. You wouldn't have had to suffer,"

"That's in the past now. All I care about now is that you're not alone in this," Arthur lifted Eames's chin again, staring straight into his eyes, "I love you, Eames. I would gladly enjoy spending an eternity in any hell as long as it meant I could be with you,"

"But-"

Arthur pressed a finger to his lips, "No more," He lifted the finger slowly, watching Eames wet his lips with his tongue and ponder over what to say next.

"Forgive me," He still hadn't finished his apologies.

Arthur smiled softly, pressing a kiss against his lips again, "Always," He used his fingers and wiped away the blood upon Eames's face. Eames followed suit and cleaned off Arthur.

His fingers trailed down Eames's body, stripping off the paisley shirt and tan slacks. Eames worked off Arthur's clothes slowly, careful to keep everything neat and orderly just as Arthur liked it. For the first time in a very long time, the two _made love_. It wasn't primal like having sex for pleasure like Bane had done. This was passion flowing between their bodies and blooming deep inside them. Every movement was confident and calculated, not a single spark of pleasure was missed. And when they climaxed, the two cried out in unison, hands scrambling to find purchase on the other as white hot ecstasy surged through them, melting their hearts back into one just as it was always meant to be.

When it was over, the two lay on a bed of poker chips, happy and so deeply in love. Eames had fallen asleep first, resting peacefully for the first time in the centuries he had spent in limbo trapped in the black hole. Arthur watched him sleep, carefully draping his coat over him while he cuddled deeper into Eames's arms.

Arthur peered up into the air, eyes permeating the darkness to see the poorly constructed footholds that made up the walls of the black hole. A spot of blood on one relatively large foothold caught Arthur's attention. Eames had tried to climb out, probably hundreds of times.

Tommy, Eames, he had always been Arthur's hero. He gripped Eames's hand tightly, kissing his knuckles softly and listening to the pleasurable sighs coming from the sleeping forger. _You saved me so please, let me save you_.

Arthur wasn't sure how long he had dozed off. Time in the black hole was artificial. Everything was static and anything that could be used to tell the passing of time was fabricated. He woke to the feel of a hand caressing his cheek and carding through his hair, " _Eames_ ," He murmured into the hand, pressing his lips to the calloused fingertips when they brushed over his lips. A warm softness cloaked his body. Arthur breathed in the sweet musky scent that enveloped him. A sensation of floating took over his body. Momentarily, he relished in it before snapping his eyes open and struggling out from Bane's grasp.

"Let go of me!" He hissed, naked body wrapped in Bane's fur-lined coat and resting in Bane's arms bridal style, "I said I'm not leaving him. Put me down now!" He gasped as Bane pressed the front of his mask to his neck, kissing him without lips. Arthur groaned softly, shoving at Bane's head, "Don't," He gasped out.

"I'm not leaving you down here," Bane said.

"You were quite content with leaving me behind the last time we met,"

"I've had time to think," Impulsiveness was one of the qualities Eames had wanted to seal away. Arthur could read it too clearly inside of Bane, "I can't let your mind rot down here,"  

"I won't leave without Eames. You want me out, you take Eames with me," Arthur said coldly, still trying to wriggle out from Bane's iron grasp.

"As long as Mr. Eames survives, I won't have you," Bane said.

"Then you won't have me, ever," Arthur said, finally wriggling out of his grasp and falling onto the poker chip lined ground. He wrapped the coat around him, covering up his naked body.

"Could you imagine staying down here forever till your mind is reduced to nothing but sludge? When the sedation wears off, when you've lived a billion years and more, you'll wake up a drooling, catatonic husk of the man you used to be,"

Arthur narrowed his eyes, "You don't scare me,"

"And what about Cobb? Ariadne? Wendy? What will they think when you awaken?" Bane noticed the sudden chill rolling through Arthur, "You also realize that once you awaken, once the PASIV ends, Eames will return to my subconscious and you will return to your own subconscious. Even in a state of catatonia, you will not be with Mr. Eames," He reached a hand out to Arthur, happy that the point man didn't pull away, "Come with me. Wake up. This time, I will honour Mr. Eames's promises. I will love you correctly," A smile was in his eyes as Arthur lifted his hand.

The smile faded as soon as Arthur slapped Bane's hand away gently, "I would suffer an eternity for Eames. My mind turning to sludge, losing myself completely when I wake up, that's worth it as long as I can be with him and help him through it," He looked to the footholds on the black hole.

"What if I offered to bring you to him every week?" Bane was bargaining. He was desperate.

Arthur shook his head, "No. I need to be here beside him to share his suffering," He walked towards one of the walls, feeling the loose foothold Eames had crafted, "And who knows, maybe someday, we'll escape,"

"It's impossible to escape the black hole. Memories thrown in are lost forever."

"Memories can never be gone, just buried deep inside your mind. Memories are static. They don't have a consciousness, a will to get out," Arthur moved in close, putting a hand onto Bane's chest, "Just like you had. Eames didn't repress memories or temper, he repressed an entire persona."

Bane nodded slowly in agreement, "So you will stay and try to escape?"

Arthur shrugged, "Of course," He walked away from Bane, back to Eames, "I'll see you on the other side," He heard Bane's steps against the wall, climbing up the rope harness and disappearing into the darkness above them.

Eames had awakened since Arthur left. When he saw Arthur walking towards him, he smiled softly to him, "Good morning. Or afternoon, or whenever," He sat up slowly, taking his pants from the ground and fitting them on slowly. He eyed the coat draped around Arthur's shoulders, "Bane was here?"

"He tried to take me back with him," Arthur replied, sitting down and sliding the coat off, "I refused," There was an obvious sadness in Eames's eyes, "Eames, I wouldn't leave you. I promise,"

"It's not that," He said, reaching for Arthur's clothes and handing it to him, "I wish you went with him. The thought of you as a drooling, comatose vegetable in reality because you chose to stay in limbo with me," His voice went quiet as he shut his eyes, "God, Arthur, I don't want that to happen to you. Please, if Bane comes down again, go with him," He pleaded again. He gasped as Arthur tackled him down, pinning him to the poker chips and hovering over him closely, "Darling?"

"What about you? Did you think I wanted this to happen to you?" Arthur said firmly, "Throwing yourself down here. If I had come any later, you might've lost your mind already. How do you think that makes me feel?" Eames swallowed, staring straight into Arthur's penetrating eyes, "I thought I lost you forever. Do you know how hard it was to convince myself that you were still alive?" He buried his forehead into Eames's chest, breathing deeply as he lowered his entire body onto the forger, "You broke my heart,"

Eames wrapped his arms around him tightly, lifting him so Arthur stared into his eyes directly above his face, "I guess we both are in the wrong, aren't we?" Gently, he pulled Arthur in for a kiss. The point man returned his affection, pressing their bodies firmly together.

When they had finished their kiss and gotten dressed, Eames and Arthur both began wandering the poker chip sea together, mapping out the footholds upon the walls.

"Sorry I couldn't make them any more even," Eames said, climbing up on one large foothold and pulling Arthur up, "It's this space. It just resists any form of manipulation and any that bleeds through ends up incomplete," He took Arthur's jacket off, tossing it into the poker chips along with his tie, "Better for climbing," He reached forward, unbuttoning the first few buttons of Arthur's shirt till a triangle of his chest was revealed. A toothy grin was on Eames's face at how dishevelled Arthur looked.

"Get used to it, Eames, you won't be seeing me like this when we get out," Arthur said with a smirk, climbing up onto another foothold.

With Arthur's precise organization, he had mapped out the safest path upwards, taking a break every once in a while to reassess the surroundings. Eames's experience with centuries of climbing helped Arthur gauge how far they could reach. He was always the first to jump across whenever a risk was to be made, only letting Arthur cross when he was sure that the path was safe.

"This jump," Eames murmured, backing up on the foothold as Arthur climbed up.

"What's wrong?" Arthur said.

"I've never been able to make this jump," Eames gestured to the ledge in front of them, "It's always just out of reach no matter how hard I try. Is there any other path?"

Arthur shook his head, "Only this way leads to a sturdy path. Everything else is too risky or a dead end," He stepped forward on the ledge only to be pulled back quickly.

"Don't jump," Eames said, "You won't make it,"

"I know. I trust what you say," Arthur replied, he knelt down by the edge, holding both his hands together, "I'll boost you over and when you're over, you catch me before I fall." Eames merely stared at him in awe, "Well?"

"That's crazy," Eames said.

"And you say I have no imagination," Arthur said with a smirk, "Come on. We have to try,"

Eames nodded. The worse that could happen was having to make the entire climb again. With Arthur by his side, the climbs were no longer torture without end. He stepped to the very opposite edge, giving himself as long a running start as he could. He ran, he leapt onto Arthur's hands, and jumped, soaring into the air.

His shoulder met the opposite ledge, he rolled forward till he was stopped by the wall. With a giant grin, he got up and punched his fists into the air, "It worked!" Arthur laughed at how childishly  happy he looked. Eames knelt by the ledge, reaching his arms out, "Your turn," Eames said. He knew he had to be precise. One slip up and Arthur would be plummeting down experiencing his first death by impact in the black hole.

Arthur leapt from the edge, arms reaching forward for the edge. A rush of adrenaline came through him as his momentum failed him. There was no way he'd reach the edge. Large hands came forward, Eames grabbed onto his forearms and hoisted him up quickly before his momentum died down. They both fell onto the ledge, Eames onto his back and Arthur over his chest with smiles unfitting their current situation.

"Nailed it, darling," Eames cooed into Arthur's ear.

Everything seemed possible now after having completed that leap of faith.

At a later jump, Arthur lost his footing and nearly tumbled down several steps. Eames leapt forward, sliding on his stomach as he grabbed Arthur's arm and pulled him back up, "Darling, be more careful," He said, pulling Arthur into his embrace and hugging him tightly. He almost lost Arthur down into darkness, their progress rendered pointless.

"I will," Arthur said, getting up, "Come on," He pulled Eames up and they continued their trek.

When the stability of the footholds diminished over a path, Eames would always wait for Arthur to go first so he could catch him should he fall. Arthur was a fast climber, often reaching the top way before Eames could even catch up. During one climb, when Eames had finally reached the top, the edge of the foothold crumbled. Eames shut his eyes, bracing himself for a horrible skull shattering impact that he'd have to live through.

"Eames!" Arthur cried out, grabbing onto Eames with one hand on the front of his shirt and the other on his left arm. He pulled with all his strength, tumbling onto his back with Eames trembling on his chest, "Are you alright?" Arthur asked breathlessly. The two broke into a hysterical laugh; they had no more tears to shed. Eames silenced their laugh before kissing Arthur quickly, laying on that foothold for a moment before continued their trek upward.

"Have you ever gotten this high?" Arthur said, peering down and no longer seeing a red blip in the darkness where the sea of poker chips lay. They were resting on a wide ledge. Arthur was busy mapping out the footholds above them while Eames sat by resting.

"Never," Eames replied, "I could always see the poker chips beneath me,"

The path upward became more even and secure. The closer they got to the exit, the more solidified Eames's constructs became. The two felt like children climbing around on a jungle gym trying to catch up with the other. Despite the repercussions of falling, Eames would occasionally pretend to stumble forward, pressing Arthur up tight against the wall and littering his face with butterfly kisses.

There was light above them. It was a gentle blue like the morning sky. Arthur and Eames took a break from climbing, laying down on a sturdy ledge, just to look up at that gentle glow and absorb it. They were so close to the exit. The steps had become far more pronounced and the two found themselves walking up steps more often as opposed to treacherously climbing them.

Eames was humming a song so familiar yet Arthur through his meticulous planning of paths could not recognize it, "That's the pain, that cuts a straight line down through the heart," Eames whispered the words to himself as he continued to hum the song, "We called it love," He said, peering over to Arthur who watched him with a smile, "We wrapped our arms around each other, tried to shove ourselves back together, we were making love, making love," A toothy smile appeared on Eames's face as Arthur smiled, dimples visible on his face.

"So that time at the night club, it was you, not Bane," Arthur said, still smiling with dimples on his face, "I'm glad,"

"Watching you sing was worth every century I spent down here," Eames said, "I've never had a song dedicated to me before,"

"Maybe I'll dance for you next time too,"

"Oh god yes," Eames nearly moaned his words, stretching around Arthur, "Do I get to pick the outfit and song too?"

Arthur laughed, shoving at Eames's face with his hand, "You are unbelievable," At the sight of Eames playfully slapping at his hand, a revelation came over Arthur. Eames had been his true love since they had first met in New York. Despite the filth slathered over Neil McCormick's name, Tommy cherished him regardless. A decade later, even when Arthur tried so desperately hard, he couldn't resist being near Eames. Years later, Eames threw away the most secure job he ever had just to protect Arthur from Cobb's dilemma. And finally, he chose to suffer his mental torture alone forever, letting Arthur find his own happiness as opposed to letting him share his pain. They spent such little time together yet every moment they were with each other, Arthur was overwhelmed by intense passion for him. Even when he hated Eames, it was only because his feelings for him were interrupting his resolve, a resolve he eventually threw away when he realized it wasn't worth it.

His fingers hooked around Eames's pinky finger, pulling his hand close so he could hold it with his entire hand. They had been separated for so long through every single type of problem they could imagine. Now, more than ever, Arthur wanted Eames by his side forever. Eames turned to Arthur, goofy smile fading away at the sight of Arthur's mixed emotions.

"Arthur?"

"Marry me,"

A faint blush appeared over Eames's cheeks. The forger had never blushed in front of him before. Arthur engraved the look of a flushed, baffled Eames into his mind, "What?" Eames whispered.

"Marry me," Arthur said again, "I want you by my side forever,"

Eames wanted to argue. He wanted to tell Arthur what a bad idea that was. He'd only invite trouble onto himself. Yet, the sight of Arthur baring his heart to him silenced Eames. Arthur gestured for Eames to stand so he could kneel before him and propose properly. Eames didn't protest despite how redundant the gesture was. Arthur took his hand, kneeling before him, and kissed the back of his knuckles.

"Thomas Eames, will you marry me?"

Eames knelt down, hugging Arthur tightly and tumbling onto the ledge with him, "Yes!" He cried out, "Yes, yes, yes," He murmured again and again, "Always, darling," He got up on his feet, helping Arthur sit up before letting out a huge cry of happiness, "I love Arthur Riordan!" He shouted into the air, his voice echoing down into the pit.

"You are such a child," Arthur said, pulling him back down and kissing him fervently.

"Arthur," Eames said, rushing onto his knees and taking both of Arthur's hands into his own, "When we reach the surface, allow me to propose to you. Please?" Arthur nodded with a pleasant smile before standing back up and continuing their journey upward.

From then on, the trek was easy. Neither of them fumbled; neither of them missed a step. The light of freedom was clear. The clouds in the sky were visible. At the final step, Arthur boosted Eames up onto the ledge above them. The forger climbed over, tumbling over the ledge onto solid ground.

"I got you, Arthur," He said, reaching back into the pit.

...Only to see all the footholds and structures Eames had constructed falling apart. Leaving the black hole annulled all his creations from the black hole's existence. The ground crumbled beneath Arthur's feet. In horror, the point man reached forward, fingers just missing Eames's hand.

"Arthur!" Eames cried out, heart stopping. He leapt off the ledge, grabbing Arthur by his forearm. He gripped onto the edge of the well surrounding the black hole, his fingers slipping when he couldn't find any grip upon them. The two were falling back down, all footholds and paths crumbling behind them until a strong hand grabbed onto Eames's.

"Bane," Eames gasped, looking at the ridiculously muscled arm that gripping onto him.

"Don't you dare let go of Arthur," Bane said through his mask, effortlessly hauling both men up. He let Eames tumble to the ground, when Arthur's hands reached the ledge of the well, Bane wrapped both arms around him and hoisted his entire body up safely.

"Are you alright?" Eames and Bane said in unison, both staring at Arthur who remained tightly embraced in Bane's arms.

Arthur nodded quickly, "Yeah. Scared me for a second," He swore his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He looked up to Bane who breathed down on him through his mask, "Thank you," He released Arthur, walking over to the edge of the black hole and leaning against the wall.

Eames immediately rushed over to Arthur, standing between him and Bane, "Bane," He said.

"You may have him. I will no longer interrupt your life," Bane's eyes appeared cold to Eames but Arthur could see the absolute sadness he had in them, "If I cannot cast aside my own happiness for yours then I do not deserve to have you. I will step aside, just as Mr. Eames had for you."

Eames shook his head, putting an arm around Arthur to pull him close. Something had changed about Bane. He was weaker, _more human_. In his eyes was a soul torn down from his omnipotent pedestal. Someone broke him and despite the horrible things he had put them both through, he couldn't just disregard a piece of himself. Eames already made the same mistake so long ago, he wasn't going to do it again, "The longer you stay down here, the worse it'll get. I have an offer for you,"

"Another bargain? I thought you would have learned by now," His eyes were upturned as if he was laughing, "No. Baiting me with pieces of my beloved will only drive me insane. Go, I will no longer interrupt with your life,"

"My bargain isn't merely moments of reality, its all of reality. All of Arthur,"

"What?" Arthur said, looking at Eames, appalled, "What are you saying?"

"I'm offering to put us back together," Eames said, "Bane and I are two parts of the same person. In the long run, staying apart will only cause more trouble," Eames was not wrong. Bane knew that it was only a matter of time before Eames either withered away in the black hole or figured out how to manipulate it just as Bane had done with his own jail. He had assumed negative subconscious to be nothingness but Eames's ability to build in the whole proved him otherwise. He could have become a greater monster than Bane ever was. Worst of all, he could have become a monster who cared no more for Arthur.

Bane looked to Arthur who remained silent over Eames's bargain, "Would you prefer Eames as he is now?" _Or would you prefer us put back together?_

The answer was obvious to Arthur. _Eames_. He wanted Eames without all the sins Bane carried with him. He wanted to take Eames away from limbo, away from the dreamscape, and pretend like everything that had happened with Bane was merely a horrible nightmare. Eames was perfection but how could he neglect everything else about him? If he was to love Eames, love Tommy, he had to love all of him, his perfection, his imperfections, his sins. The right answer was clear to Arthur.

"I prefer to love all of you, your perfections and your imperfections," He said.

Eames nodded, kissed Arthur's cheek and walked towards Bane. He took the gun from his belt, pointing it to Arthur, "See you on the other side," He fired, sending Arthur back to reality. He tossed the gun onto the floor, looking at Bane, "You realize this might not work out the way we think it will. My consciousness could be lost in the process, yours could, or maybe some third behemoth will spawn from both of our minds."

"It's a risk I'm willing to take," Bane said. _If Arthur will only accept me if I am one with you, then so be it._

Eames reached forward, movements matching Bane's hands as they worked to remove the mask together. When two latches fell, Eames took Bane's mask into his hand. He noticed a quivering fear in Bane's eyes. Sweat was sliding down his skin. Eames shared in his fear. He wasn't sure what would happen but he kept it to himself and forged himself a calm persona.

"Now's not the time for fear," Eames said, earning a light chuckle from Bane, "Ready?"

"Ready,"

 

Arthur took a deep breath as he woke up. He was lying on a stretcher that had been wheeled into Eames's room. He tore the needle from his wrist, retracting the tube back into the PASIV. He smoothed back his hair and immediately straightened up his suit. He checked the clock, an hour had passed which meant the sedation had worn off.

"Eames," He whispered to the body laying on the bed, still restrained. Eames was still asleep, unmoving, "Eames?" He said again, shaking the body weakly. He was still breathing but the man had yet to awaken, "Wake up, _Eames_ ,"

As his memories returned, Arthur retracted his remark. It wasn't Eames anymore. Whether or not he kept the name 'Eames', this was a new person that would awaken from Eames's body. After removing his restraints, he waited, watching him fervently for any signs of movement. When he finally began to stir, Arthur's heart leapt out of its chest.

'Eames' looked at him with half-lidded eyes. Arthur immediately reached down and undid all his restraints, freeing him from the bed. Eames greeted his actions with a kind smile, "Darling," He whispered, stretching slowly and sitting up. He wrapped his arms around him and immediately pressed their lips together. When he felt that Arthur's lips were sufficiently pleasured, he moved his lips downward and began suckling marks into his skin.

Arthur laughed a bit at how proactive Eames was. Certainly this behaviour was more akin to Bane but there was a softness to his actions that reminded him of Eames, "Ah, right," Eames said, slowly crawling off the bed despite his aching muscles.

"Eames-," Arthur cut himself off. No, 'Eames' wasn't right. He searched for a name in his head, something fitting for the two halves coming back together, "Thomas," He said, making Eames smile, his eyes upturning like Bane's had when he smiled, "Be careful, you're hurt. This can wait,"

Eames shook his head, "Eames is fine," He said, sitting Arthur down on the bed and taking his left hand into both of his hands. He kissed the back of his wrist, moving up to massage each knuckle with his lips and then ghost over his long fingers, planting a kiss at the tip of each one.

"Arthur, beloved, will you marry me?"

Arthur wanted to respond but he found himself too winded to talk. He nodded quickly before reaching down and hugging Eames tightly, pressing his face into the scarred flesh of his neck. This was Eames. This was Bane. This was Tommy. This was the man he loved, finally back, finally in his arms.

He heard a nurse enter. The sound of heels clacking against the floor alerted him of Wendy's presence. Arthur didn't care though, neither did Eames. Right now, all they wanted to do was hold their beloved as tightly as they could, trying to crush themselves back together, pressing their fractures together like long lost puzzle pieces joining for the first time, like it was their destiny to never be apart ever again.


End file.
